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I 

• 


LIFE   AND    LETTERS 


CATHARINE   M.  SEDGWICK. 


EDITED    MY 

MARY     K.    1)  K  W  K  Y. 


NEW     YORK: 

II  A  K  1*  E  K     &     II  K  O T  II  K  K  S,     1»  U  II  I.  1  S  1 1  1C  R  S, 

f  M  A  N  K  I.  IN     KtjUAKK. 


o.flq* 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 

KATHARINE  S.  MINOT, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


PS 


b-f 


EVER  since  Miss  Sedgwick's  death,  now  a  little  more 
than  three  years  ago,  those  who  knew  and  loved  her 
best  have  been  desirous  that  some  printed  memorial  should 
exist  of  a  life  so  beautiful  and  delightful  in  itself,  and  so  be 
neficent  in  its  influence  on  others.  Many  besides  must  join 
in  this  wish ;  for,  although  few  remain  of  the  generation  in 
which  she  was  a  shining  light,  yet  they,  and  those  who  were 
still  young  enough  when  her  books  appeared  to  feel  their 
characters  distinctly  moulded  by  her  words  of  tender  wis 
dom,  will  rejoice,  both  for  their  own  sakes  and  that  of  young 
er  people  who  "  knew  her  not/1  that  there  should  be  placed 
on  record  a  fuller  sketch  of  her  life  than  any  that  has  yet 
appeared.  The  volume  now  offered  to  satisfy  this  desire  is 
chiefly  made  up  of  such  extracts  from  her  letters  and  jour 
nals  as  can  be  given  to  the  public,  and  are  also  enriched  by 
papers  from  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Fanny  Kemble,  Mrs.  Abby 
H.  Gibbons,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Dewey,  and  William  Cullen  Bryant, 
Esq. 

The  letters  are  used  in  chronological  order,  and  inevi 
tably  lack  connection,  except  such  as  is  given  by  their  ema 
nation  from  one  character.  They  are  like  photographs  taken 
from  a  hundred  points  of  the  same  person,  and,  as  in  the 
curious  stereoscopic  instrument  which  produces  a  rounded 
and  life-like  image  by  the  convergence  of  rays  from  a  multi 
tude  of  such  likenesses,  so  in  the  mind  of  the  sympathetic 
reader  will  arise,  it  is  hoped,  from  the  perusal  of  these  let- 

A  2 


10 

tors,  a  truer  and  more  vivid  portrait  of  their  writer  than  could 
be  formed  from  any  merely  outside  description. 

The  story  of  her  life  is  a  simple  tale  as  regards  outward 
circumstances.  No  striking  incidents,  no  remarkable  oc 
currences  will  be  found  in  it,  but  the  gradual  unfolding  and 
ripening  amid  congenial  surroundings  of  a  true  and  beauti 
ful  soul,  a  clear  and  refined  intellect,  and  a  singularly  sym 
pathetic  social  nature. 

She  was  born  eighty  years  ago,  when  the  atmosphere  was 
still  electric  with  the  storm  in  which  we  took  our  place 
among  the  nations,  and  passing  her  childhood  in  the  seclu 
sion  of  a  New  England  valley,  while  yet  her  family  was 
linked  to  the  great  world  without  by  ties  both  political  and 
social,  early  and  deep  foundations  were  laid  in  her  charac 
ter  of  patriotism,  religious  feeling,  love  of  nature,  and  strong 
attachment  to  home,  and  to  those  who  made  it  what  it  was. 
And  when,  later  in  life,  she  took  her  place  among  the  ac 
knowledged  leaders  of  literature  and  society,  these  remained 
the  central  features  of  her  character,  and  around  them  gath 
ered  all  the  graceful  culture,  the  active  philanthropy,  the  so 
cial  accomplishment  which  made  her  presence  a  joy  wher 
ever  it  came. 

In  the  latter  part  of  her  life  she  was  fortunately  induced 
to  pen  some  recollections  of  her  earlier  years  for  the  child 
of  the  beloved  niece  who  was  to  her  as  a  daughter.  They 
are  written  with  all  her  accustomed  ease  and  grace  of  style, 
and  with  a  simplicity  and  freedom  which  show  that  the  idea 
of  their  being  read  beyond  the  family  circle  never  entered 
her  mind,  and,  recorded  as  they  were  at  long  intervals,  they 
are  without  regular  continuity  ;  but,  apart  from  their  chief 
interest  as  an  account  of  circumstances  influencing  the  for 
mation  of  her  own  character,  they  contain  so  much  wise  and 
delicate  reflection,  such  nice  character-painting,  and  such 
charming  sketches  of  life  and  manners,  that  in  reading  them 


.J 

II 


we  regret  only  that  they  close  so  soon,  bringing  their  writer 
but  to  her  fourteenth  year. 

Miss  Sedgwick's  time  was  mostly  spent  between  Stock- 
bridge  and  L  .nox  (villages  in  Berkshire  County,  Massa 
chusetts),  and  New  York.  She  was  born  in  Stockbridge ; 
and  when  she  died,  her  body*  was  laid  among  those  of  her 
kindred  in  the  burial-ground  of  her  native  valley. 

ST.  DAVID'S,  Junmuy  2&t//>  1871. 


LIFE  AND  LETTERS 


OF 


CATHARINE   M.  SEDGWICK. 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF   CHILDHOOD. 

May  5th,  1853. 

MY  DKAR  LITTLE  ALICE, — About  two  years  since  your 
father  wrote  me  an  eloquent  note  persuading  me  to  write 
for  you  some  memorial  of  my  life,  and  what  I  knew  of  your 
forbears  and  mine.  If  you  live  to  be  an  old  worqan,  as  I 
now  am,  you  may  like  to  rake  in  the  ashes  of  the  past,  and 
if,  perchance,  you  find  some  fire  still  smouldering  there,  you 
may  feel  a  glow  from  it.  It  is  not  till  we  get  deep  into  age 
that  we  feel  by  how  slight  a  tenure  we  hold  on  to  the  mem 
ories  of  those  that  come  after  us,  and  not  till  then  that  we 
are  conscious  of  an  earnest  desire  to  brighten  the  links  of 
the  chain  that  binds  us  to  those  who  have  gone  before,  and 
to  keep  it  fast  and  strong. 


The  first  of  our  Scdgwick  ancestors  of  whom  I  have  any 
tradition  was  Robert  Sedgwick,  who  was  sent  by  Oliver 
Cromwell  a,s  governor  or  commissioner  (I  am  not  sure  by 
which  title)  to  the  island  of  Jamaica.  As  I  am  a  full  be 
liever  in  the  transmission  of  qualities  peculiar  to  a  race,  it 


14  Ltfe  of  Catharine  Af.  Set/gwick. 

pleases  me  to  recognize  in  "the  governor,"  as  we  have  al 
ways  called  him,  a  Puritan  and  an  Independent,  for  to  none 
other  would  Cromwell  have  given  a  trust  so  important.  A 
love  of  freedom,  a  habit  of  doing  their  own  thinking,  has 
characterized  our  clan.  Its  men  have  not  been  trammeled 
by  old  usages,  but  for  the  most  part  have  stood  on  those  el 
evations  that  first  catch  the  light  and  command  a  wide  hori 
zon.  (There,  my  dear,  I  have  not  got  over  the  second  page 
without  betraying  my  point  of  family  pride  and  family  weak 
ness  1)  Truly  I  think  it  a  great  honor  that  the  head  of  our 
house  took  office  from  that  great  man  who  achieved  his  own 
greatness,  and  not  from  the  King  Charleses  who  were  born 
to  it,  and  lost  it  by  their  own  unworlhiness. 


Of  my  mother's  progenitors  I  know  only  that,  according 
to  the  general  New  England  foundation,  three  brothers — En 
glishmen — came  together  to  the  New  World  ;  that  they  were 
men  of  Character  and  estate,  and  that  from  one  of  them  my 
mother  descended.  The  riches  went,  not  in  our  channel, 
but  to  that  branch  from  which  your  kind  and  dear  friends, 
Mrs.  P.  and  cousin  L.  D.,  came.  Riches  and  our  name  have 
no  affinities,  my  dear.  The  wise  man's  prayer  has  been 
granted  to  us  ;  we  have  enjoyed  fully  the  advantage  and  fe 
licity  of  being  neither  rich  nor  poor.  My  maternal  grand 
father  was  a  brigadier  colonel  in  the  war  in  the  French 
Provinces  in  1745.  The  family  tradition  goes  that  he  was 
at  the  taking  of  Cape  Breton,  and  that  he  served  with  honor. 
You  see  his  picture  at  your  "  Father  Charles's,"  a  handsome, 
hale  man,  with  ruddy  cheeks  and  most  delicately  beautiful 
hands,  rather  studiously  displayed.  I  am  afraid  he  had  a 
weakness  on  that  point ;  or  perhaps  he  showed  them  to 
prove  to  his  descendants  that  he  had  kept  "  clean  hands," 
a  commendable  virtue,  physically  or  morally  speaking.  He 


Recollections  of  Childhood.    *  \  5 

was  one  of  the  gentlemen  par  exteMeutt  of  his  time,  who 
maintained  the  highest  associations  of  the  province.  1  have 
heard  an  old  Irish  servant  of  his,  who  maintained  a  feudal 
reverence  for  him,  and  who  used  to  visit  this  portrait  in  the 
best  parlor  of  our  old  Stockbridge  home,  say  often,  as  he 
stood  before  it  with  the  tears  rolling  off  his  cheeks,  "  Oh,  if 
you  could  have  seen  him  with  his  rigimintals,  he  would  have 
sceared  you !" 

My  grandmother  was  the  widow  of  Mr.  Sergeant,  mission 
ary  from  a  Scotch  society  to  the  Indians,  when  my  grand 
father  married  her.  Her  maiden  name  was  Williams.  She 
was  the  sister  of  the  founder  of  Williams  College,  and  a 
woman  much  celebrated  in  her  day  for  her  intelligence  and 
character.  I  have  not,  like  you,  my  dear  Alice,  ever  enjoyed 
the  pleasure  of  this  relation,  which  extends  our-  being  by 
one  generation,  and  gives  us  the  twilight  as  well  as  the 
dawn.  My  father's  mother  died  long  before  I  was  born  ; 
my  mother's  mother,  I  think,  about  eighteen  months  after. 
I  have  always  heard  her  spoken  of  as  a  remarkable  woman 
in  her  time,  but  my  most  vivid  impression  of  her  is  from  the 
record  of  Mrs.  Qttincy,  who,  when  she  was  Susan  Morton 
and  a  young  girl,  had  an  enthusiastic  love  for  her  mother's 
old  friend,  "  Madam  Dwight,"  and  twice  made  a  pilgrimage 
to  Stockbridge  to  see  her.  I  shall  copy  her  account  for 
your  benefit.  "  Madam  Dwight"  spent  her  last  years  with  a 
son  of  her  first  marriage,  Dr.  Sergeant,  who  lived  at  the  old 
house  still  standing  on  Sergeant's  Hill.  In  those  days  she 
had  four  children  established  in  Stockbridge  :  Mr.  John  Ser 
geant,  at  that  lonely  point  known  as  the  "  Wells  House  ;" 
Mrs.  Hopkins,  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  village;  and  my 
mother,  mistress  of  the  then  new  mansion  where  your  Aunt 
Susnn*  now  lives.  The  old  lady  said  her  first  look-out  in 

*  Mr*.  Theodore  Scilgwick,  widow  of  Miss  Setlg wick's  eldest  brother 
Shu  died  in  1867. 


1 6  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

the  morning  was  to  see  the  smoke  rise  from  her  children's 
chimneys,  and  with  her  "second  sight"  she  saw  them  gath 
ering  their  little  flocks  around  their  breakfast  tables.  The 
parents  have  all  long  ago  fulfilled  their  earthly  mission  and 
gone.  The  children,  most  of  them,  have  followed.  A  few 
yet  linger  on,  and  "  Father  Charles"  and  "  Aunt  Catharine" 
may  perhaps  live  in  your  memory  when  you  read  this. 

My  maternal  grandfather  died  in  Barrington,  and  was 
there  buried.  There  is  a  monument  to  him  in  the  old  bury- 
ing-ground  there,  and  a  lovely  living  monument  in  the  old 
elm-trees  in  the  middle  of  the  village,  near  the  house,  still 
standing,  in  which  he  lived.  My  mother 'had  but  few  recol 
lections  of  him.  He  died  when  she  was  thirteen. 

Here  follows  Mrs.  Quincy's  notice  of  his  widow.  A  brown 
tabular  monument  marks  her  burying-place  in  Stockbt  iclge. 

"  Madam  Dwight,  of  Stockbridge,  came  to  visit  us  in 
1786.  The  daughter  of  Colonel  Williams,  of  Williamstown, 
she  married  Mr.  Sergeant,  of  Stockbridge,  who  died  in  early 
life,  leaving  two  sons ;  and  his  widow  became  the  wife  of 
Colonel  Dwight,  one  of  the  leading  men  of  Massachusetts  in 
his  day.  Their  children  were  Henry  Dwight,  and  Pamela, 
afterward  Mrs.  Theodore  Sedgwick.  Madam  Dwight  was 
again  left  a  widow,  and  in  1786  was  upward  of  sixty  years 
of  age,  tall  and  erect,  dignified,  precise  in  manner,  yet  benev 
olent  and  pleasing.  Her  dress,  of  rich  silk,  a  high-crowned 
cap,  with  plaited  border,  and  a  watch,  then  so  seldom  worn 
as  to  be  a  distinction,  all  marked  the  gentlewoman,  and  in 
spired  respect.  She  was  a  new  study  to  me,  and  realized 
my  ideas  of  Mrs.  Shirley  in  '  Sir  Charles  Grandison,'  and 
other  characters  I  had  read  of  in  works  of  fiction.  When 
she  returned  home  she  asked  me  to  accompany  her,  and,  to 
my  great  joy,  her  request  was  complied  with.  We  went  up 
the  Hudson  in  a  sloop,  in  which  we  were  the  only  passen 
gers. 


Recollections  of  Childhood.  \  7 

44  We  staid  at  Kinderhook  till  the  wagon  came  for  us  from 
Stockbridge.  I  was  seated  by  Madam  Dwight,  and  we  were 
driven  by  her  grandson,  a  son  of  Dr.  Sergeant.  The  dis 
tance  was  thirty  or  forty  miles — a  day's  journey.  It  was 
twilight  when  we  reached  Stockbridge.  The  first  thing  that 
attracted  my  attention  was  a  fish  for  a  vane,  on  the  steeple 
of  the  church.  I  said  to  Madam  Dwight, '  How  could  they 
put  up  a  poor  fish,  so  much  out  of  its  own  element  ?  It 
ought  at  leas^t  to  have  been  a  flying  fish.1  She  seemed  much 
diverted  at  my  remark,  and  repeated  it  to  her  friends,  con 
fessing  that  she  had  never  thought  of  this  absurdity  her 
self,  or  heard  it  observed  by  others.  Dr.  Sergeant,  Madam 
Dwight's  son  by  her  first  marriage,  resided  in  her  mansion- 
house,  where  she  retained  the  best  parlor  and  chamber  for 
her  own  use.  He  was  an  excellent  man,  and  the  most  dis 
tinguished  physician  in  that  part  of  the  country.  We  were 
joyfully  received  by  him  and  his  family.  As  I  was  fatigued, 
Madam  Dwight  took  me  to  her  room,  and  again  expressed 
her  pleasure  at  having  me  with  her.  I  can  never  forget  her 
affection  and  kindness.  Her  precepts  and  example  made 
an  indelible  impression  in  favor  of  virtue  and  true  piety. 
Her  temper  and  character  formed  a  living  mirror,  which  re 
flected  an  image  of  such  loveliness  that  my  heart  was  truly 
bound  to  her.  She  made  me  her  companion,  read  to  me, 
and  talked  to  me  with  the  confidence  of  a  friend. 

"  When,  on  the  morning  after  our  arrival,  the  window- 
shutters  were  opened,  the  Valley  of  the  Housatonic,  softened 
by  wreaths  of  vapor  rising  over  the  mountains  under  the 
beams  of  the  rising  sun,  seemed  to  my  enchanted  vision  like 
fairy-land.  I  exclaimed, '  O,  Madam  Dwight  1  it  looks  like 
the  Happy  Valley  of  Abyssinia.  There  is  the  river,  and 
there  are  the  mountains  on  every  side.  Why  did  you  never 
tell  me  of  this  beautiful  view  ?'  My  friend  seemed  surprised 
at  my  enthusiasm.  Long  familiar  with  the  scene,  she  hard- 


1 8  Life  t*f  Catharine  M.  Settgwicfc. 

ly  realized  its  beauty.  I  became  attached  to  her  grandchil 
dren,  and  passed  several  months  in  otockbridge.  Her 
daughter,  Mrs.  Sedgwick,  lived  upon  '  the  Plain,'  as  it  was 
called,  in  distinction  to  *  the  Hill,1  where  Dr.  Sergeant  re 
sided. 

**  When  I  was  recalled  home,  I  parted  from  Madam  Dwight 
with  great  reluctance,  and  she  expressed  equal  sensibility. 
She  endeavored  to  comfort  me  by  saying  that  she  would 
visit  New  York  the  next  spring,  and  that  J  should  return 
with  her.  But  she  was  prevented  from  executing  this  inten 
tion  ;  and  when  I  revisited  Stockbridge  in  1792,  my  friend 
was  no  more." 

My  mother  and  Henry  Dwight,  who  occupied  the  house 
at  the  west  end  of  "  the  Plain,"  were  the  only  children  of 
I  lie  marriage  of  my  grandmother  with  Colonel  Dwight. 
They  had  both  been  previously  married.  My  grandmother 
had  three  children  by  the  first  marriage — Erastus,  John,  and 
Electa.  Erastus  was  our  "  Uncle  Doctor,"  a  distinguished 
physician  in  Berkshire  for  nearly  fifty  years.  He  was  a 
mild,  faithful  man,  and  patient  as  the  best  of  Christians  are 
with  the  severest  domestic  afflictions.  John  succeeded  his 
father  as  missionary  to  the  Indians.  I  believe  he  worked 
faithfully  in  the  field,  but  I  never  could  hear  that  the  poor 
man  reaped  any  harvest.  His  Indians  had  lost  the  mascu 
line  savage  quality,  the  wild  flavor,  and  had  imbibed  the 
dreg-vices  of  civilization,  without  in  the  least  profiting  by  its 
advantages.  Electa  became  "  Aunt  Hopkins,"  and  was  the 
ancestor  of  the  present  President  and  Professor  of  Williams 
College.  The  President  is  one  of  our  best  moral  writers. 

There  was  a  traditionary  story  of  my  mother's  childhood 
which  used  to  affect  my  imagination,  for  in  my  youth,  dear 
Alice,  the  dark  shadows  of  the  Indians  had  hardly  passed 
off  our  valleys,  and  tales  about  them  made  the  stock  terrors 
of  our  nurseries.  The  Indians  of  New  England  were  at 


Recollections  of  Chiltt/wotl.  19 

that  lime — about  1750 — friendly  lo  the  white  people,  but 
the  Mohawks  were  a  terror  to  the  whites,  and  to  their  red 
friends.  My  mother  was  about  two  years  old  when  my 
grandmother  was  on  a  visit  with  her  to  her  son  Erastus  (Dr. 
Sergeant)  in  Stockbridge.  The  servant-men  only  were  at 
home — a  black  man  and  Lynch,  the  Irish  servant  whom  I 
have  already  mentioned.  There  was  an  alarm — the  hideous 
cry,  "The  Indians  are  coining  I1'  There  were  no  horses  in 
the  stable,  and  the  women  decided  at  once  to  set  off  on  foot. 
My  grandmother  gave  her  little  girl  Pamela  (my  mother)  to 
the  black  servant,  and  dispatched  him.  Lynch  followed 
soon  after,  and,  descending  the  hill,  heard  a,  faint  cry  from 
a  thick  copse  by  the  road-side.  The  cry  came  from  the 
poor  little  girl,  whom  the  terrified  man  had  relieved  himself 
of  as  soon  as  out  of  sight.  Lynch  took  her  up  and  carried 
her  to  a  place  of  safety.  The  Indians  did  not  come,  but 
Lynch  ever  after  looked  upon  himself  as  a  hero  in  our  fam 
ily  annals,  and,  in  truth,  pretty  much  as  its  founder.  Poor 
old  man  I  It  was  a  proud  day  for  him  when  "  the  Judge" 
(my  dear  father)  and  all  "  the  family"  went  in  "  the  old 
coachee"  to  dine  with  him.  His  tremulous  voice  and  shak 
ing  hands  were  almost  firm  again  as  he  stood  at  his  door 
in  Larrywang  to  welcome  us.  His  name  was  Lawrence, 
and  "  wang"  is  Indian  for  a  cluster  of  houses,  so  the  little 
hamlet  at  the  west  end  of  Stockbridge  was  named  for  him. 
I  do  not  know  if  it  has  yet  lost  the  designation. 

Through  all  my  childhood,  Larry  Lynch  was  the  only  Irish 
inhabitant  of  Stockbridge  !  I  do  notwbelieve  there  were 
then  half  a  dozen  in  the  county.  I  think  their  influx  did 
not  begin  before  1830 — and  now  there  are  two  thronged 
churches  in  Berkshire,  and  occasional  mass  in  all  the  vil 
lages  where  they  swnrm.  What  would  clear  old  Dr.  West 
our  sixty  years  Defender  of  the  Puritan  Faith  (the  Doric  pil 
lar  of  Hopkinsianism),  what  would  he  say  to  these  multitu- 


20  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

dinous  children  of  Antichrist  1  One  of  the  oldest  members 
of  his  Church,  Mrs.  Ingersoll,  the  deacon's  wife,  after  the  de 
parture  of  her  meek  helpmate  (he  was  the  weaker  vessel), 
rented  the  deacon's  old  hat-shop — he  was  hat  manufacturer 
to  the  village — to  Billy  Brogan.  It  was  a  little,  unpainted, 
one-story  building,  in  the  same  inclosure  with  her  house — 
none  but  an  Irish  family  would  have  gathered  there.  When 
the  Irish  became  numerous  enough,  mass  was  to  be  cele 
brated  in  the  village,  and  Billy  Brogan's  habitation  was  se 
lected  as  the  largest  domicil  among  them,  and  therefore 
fittest  for  the  purpose.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  indigna 
tion  of  the  deacon's  widow — a  Yankee  Mause* — nor  t,he 
energy  of  her  invectives,  necessarily  restrained  within  the 
decencies  of  Puritan  objurgation.  To  have  mass  on  her 
premises — a  Catholic  priest  within  her  gates — '*  mass  in  the 
deacon's  shop  I  the  shop  turned  into  a  Cathatrall  No,  she 
had  rather  burn  it  I" 

The  result  of  this  new  experiment  in  the  world  of  a  dis 
tinct  race,  with  marked  characteristics  and  a  religion  of  their 
own,  living  among  us  with  the  full  benefit  of  equal  rights 
and  privileges,  you,  my  dear  Alice,  may  live  to  see.  But,  as 
ignorance  can  not  compete  with  knowledge,  nor  get  the  mns- 
tery  of  it  till  there  is  an  immense  odds  of  brute  force,  as  a 
despotic  religion  has  neither  sanction  nor  security  in  the 
midst  of  free  institutions,  I  trust,  my  dear  child,  that  the 
Irish,  by  the  infusion  of  an  element  of  warmth  and  generos 
ity  into  our  national  character,  will  have  done  us  more  good 
than  evil.  I  am  inclined  to  think  they  have  already  done 
this  for  us.  I  have  so  lively  a  recollection  of  the  time  when 
we  were  in  the  transitive  state — when  the  old  well-trained 
slaves  had  disappeared — when  the  few  black  servants  to  be 
hired  were  shiftless,  lazy,  and  unfaithful,  and  our  own  peo 
ple  scarcely  to  be  obtained,  or,  if  obtained,  coming  "to  ac- 

*  Mauac  llcadrigg,  in  "Old  Mortality." 


Recollections  of  Chiltt/wod.  2 1 

commodatc  you/'  and  staying  only  till  they  could  accommo 
date  themselves  better,  that  I  feel  grateful  for  Irish  servants, 
with  all  their  Celtic  infirmities  on  their  heads — their  half 
savage  ways — their  blunders — their  imaginativeness — indef- 
initeness — and  curve-lines  every  way.  They  desire  employ 
ment — they  are  willing  servants — they  are  sympathetic  and 
progressive,  and  I  have  at  this  moment,  June,  1853,  a  girl  in 
my  service,  Margaret  Pollock,  a  pearl  of  great  price.  She 
is  a  Protestant,  to  be  sure,  but  she  was  born  and  bred  in 
Ireland,  and  I  would  not  exchange  her  for  all  the  service  I 
could  distill  in  Yankeedom. 

I  have  sore  recollections  of  the  time  when  I  rode  the 
country  round  to  get,  for  love  and  money,  girls  to  do  the 
family  work.  Unwilling  they  were  to  come,  and.  incompe 
tent  when  they  came.  My  father's  house  was  one  of  the 
few  where  the  domestics  were  restricted  to  the  kitchen  table. 
"  Oh,"  said  a  woman  to  me,  whose  daughter  I  was  begging 
for,  "  now  Catha/-/>/<?,  we  are  all  made  out  of  the  same  clay, 
we  have  got  one  Maker  and  one  Judge,  and  we've  got  to 
lay  down  in  the  grave  side  by  side — why  can't  you  sit  down 
to  the  table  together?"  We  were  vexed  and  fretted,  and 
thought  the  people  presuming,  impertinent,  and  stupid  j  but 
stupid  they  were  not,  and  we  were  not  philosophers.  They 
used  their  power;  they  had  something  better  before  them  than 
domestic  subordination  and  household  service.  Their  time 
had  come,  their  harness  was  thrown  off,  fresh  pastures  were 
before  them.  They  did  not,  perhaps,  use  their  freedom 
gracefully,  but  they  enjoyed  it,  and  it  was  theirs.  The  West 
and  the  factories  have  absorbed  all  this  population,  and 
Providence  has  sent  the  starving  hewers  of  wood  and  draw 
ers  of  water  from  other  lands  to  us,  to  be  taught  in  our 
kitchens,  and  to  be  borne  on  by  the  mighty  wave  of  progress 
that  is  steadily  tending  onward  and  upward  here.  It  is  not 
left  to  our  choice — Providence  makes  of  our  homes  Irish 


2  2  Life  of  Catharine  Af. 

school-houses,  of  our  mothers  and  (laughters  involuntary 
missionaries  !  Thus,  if  you  will  but  observe  it,  clear  Alice, 
you  will  see  that  God  works  more  effectively  than  man,  in  a 
wider  field,  and  with  greater  means.  He  sets  the  sun  in 
the  sky,  and  it  lights  the  world  ;  we  are  proud  of  the  gas 
lights  that  dispel  the  darkness  of  a  city,  just  enabling  us  to 
know  a  friend  from  a  stranger.  God  sends  rain  over  our 
vast  tracts  of  land,  refreshing  harvest-fields,  ripening  the 
fruits  of  the  earth,  nourishing  our  gardens,  and  filling  rivers 
as  well  as  cisterns  ;  we  take  a  watering-pot  and  save  a  few 
plants  from  perishing.  A  few  good  men  and  women  of  the 
land  go  forth  to  teach  the  heathen ;  God,  when  the  time 
came  to  deliver  the  Irish  people  from  their  oppressors,  sent 
them  forth  to  the  plentiful  land  reserved  for  them  here,  where 
they  till  and  are  tilled.  Their  children  will  melt  into  our 
population,  in  which  there  must  be  an  amalgamation  of  va 
rious  elements,  the  calculating,  cold,  intellectual  Saxon,  the 
metaphysical,  patient  German,  the  vivacious,  imaginative,  in 
definite,  changeful,  uncertain  Celt,  the  superstitious  North 
man,  the  fervent  children  of  the  South.  A  strange  com 
pound  must  come  out  of  this.  There  is  support  for  all 
living  nature — the  "  finest  of  the  wheat"  for  the  basis,  and 
sour  and  sweet,  and  spice  and  spirit — a  "  De'il's  bro'  "  it 
will  be — or  ambrosia  for  the  gods,  a  perfecting  and  consum 
mation  of  the  species. 

But  I  am  far  enough  off  from  our  family  history,  or  rather 
my  own  story,  which  I  began  with ;  but  fearing,  clear  Alice, 
that  you  would  never  know  how  I  came  here,  I  have,  and 
shall  transmit  to  you  all  that  I  know  of  my  progenitors.  My 
father,  Theodore  Sedgwick,  was  educated  at  Yale  College, 
New  Haven.  He  was  supported  there  by  the  generous  ef 
forts  and  sacrifices  of  his  older  brother  John.  The  family 
fortunes  seem  to  have  run  out  pretty  much  after  the  death 
of  the  commissioner  or  governor  sent  by  Cromwell  to  the 


Jtccotlections  of  C/tUtthooti.  *j 

island  of  Jamaica,  and  after  being  fixed  at  West  Hartford, 
Connecticut,  for  two  generations,  my  grandfather,  one,  I  be 
lieve,  of  a  large  family,  removed  to  Cornwall,  and  purchased 
a  large  farm  on  its  bleak  hills.  He  opened  a  "  store"  there, 
and,  just  arrived  in  mezzo  cammiHt),  he  died  of  apoplexy  and 
left  three  sons  and  three  daughters.  Uncle  John  was  head 
of  the  house,  and  at  once  resolving,  with  my  grandmother's 
earnest  and  ready  co-operation,  to  maintain  my  father  at  col 
lege,  he  opened  a  tavern  to  obtain  money  which  could  not 
be  worked  out  of  the  stony  land  of  Cornwall.  My  father 
pursued  his  studies  to  the  last  year,  when,  being  a  party  in 
some  boyish  gayeties  quite  outside  of  the  Puritan  tolerance 
of  the  times,  he  was  expelled  by  the  president,  of  whom  I 
received  the  impression,  I  can  not  say  with  what  accuracy, 
that  he  was  a  compound  of  pedagogue  and  granny.  My 
father,  sobered  by  this  cloud,  took  to  divinity,  and  went  to 
Dr.  Bellamy's  to  study  theology.  The  doctor,  I  rather  think, 
from  the  current  anecdotes  of  the  time,  Tiad  considerable 
sympathy  with  the  secular  side  of  my  father's  character.  At 
any  rate,  with  his  entire  sympathy  and  approbation,  my  fa 
ther  turned  from  divinity  to  law,  and  began  and  finished 
his  legal  studies  with  Mark  Hopkins,  of  Great  Barrington, 
Massachusetts,  a  distinguished  lawyer  of  his  time,  and  grand 
father  of  the  present  President  of  Williams  College.* 

*  My  father  used  to  tell  with  much  guato  of  Dr.  Bellamy  that  one  of 
his  parishioners,  who  was  a  notorious  scamp,  came  to  him,  saying,  in  the 
parlance  of  the  divinity  that  pervaded  this  part  of  New  England  at  that 
period, "  I  feel  that  I  have  obtained  a  hope  !"  The  doctor  looked  sur 
prised.  "  I  realize  that  I  am  the  chief  of  sinners,"  continued  the  hypo 
critical  canter.  "  Your  neighbors  have  long  been  of  that  opinion/'  re 
joined  the  doctor.  The  man  went  on  to  say  out  the  lesson — "  I  feel 
willing  to  be  damned  for  the  glory  of  God."  ••  Well,  my  friend,  I  don't 
know  any  one  who  has  the  slightest  objection  I" 

I  heard  yesterday,  while  on  a  visit  to  my  dear  friend,  Dr.  Dewey,  at 
Sheffield,  another  equally  characteristic  story  of  this  old  friend  of  my  fa- 


• 
24  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

My  father  appreciated  highly  Mr.  Hopkins's  talents  and 
virtues,  and  always  spoke  of  him  as  a  man  " commc  il y  en  a 
ptu."  Like  other  patriotic  civilians,  Mr.  Hopkins  took  up 
arms  during  the  Revolutionary  War.  An  old  man,  a  soldier 
of  that  time — a  pensioner  of  ours — told  me  the  following  an 
ecdote  :  Mr.  H.  had  a  command  at  White  Plains,  or  in  that 
vicinity,  when  the  British  were  in  great  force  near  them. 
News  came  that  he  was  ill  (I  believe  of  the  disease  of  which 
he  afterward  prematurely  died).  My  father  went  to  him  at 
great  personal  risk,  for  the  British  were  advancing,  and  our 
people  retreating.  He  procured  a  litter  and  soldiers — my 
informant  was  one  of  them — and  Mr.  H.  was  placed  on  the 
litter  and  hastily  carried  off.  They  heard  firing ;  Mr.  H., 
weakened  by  illness,  was  terrified,  sure  he  should  be  taken 
prisoner,  or  they  should  all  be  shot ;  he  implored  my  father 
with  tears  to  leave  him  to  his  fate,  and  save  himself.  My 
father  of  course  resisted,  cheered  and  sustained  him,  and 
conveyed  him  to*  a  place  of  safety.  My  father  afterward 
married  the  young  half-sister  of  Mark  Hopkins's  wife,  Pa 
mela  Dwight,  my  beloved  and  tenderly  remembered  mother. 

My  father  first  opened  an  office  in  Barrington  (Bryant, 
the  poet,  occupied  it  afterward),  and  I  have  heard  him  say 
that  for  six  weeks  he  sat  looking  up  and  down  the  street, 
like  poor  Dennis  Bulgruddery,  for  a  client,  but  no  client 
came,  and  he  took  down  his  sign  and  moved  off  to  Sheffield, 
where  he  began  his  honorable  legal  career.  He  married, 
before  he  was  twenty-one,  Eliza  Mason,  a  relative  of  the  late 

thcr.  One  of  his  Church  was  up  before  thnt  solemn  tribunal  for  some 
profane  words  spoken  in  wrath.  Ho  was  a  man  liable  to  be  provoked 
to  a  sudden  gust  of  passion  by  a  scamp,  but  tender  and  cherishing  as  a 
June  dew  to  the  widow  and  fatherless.  After  hearing  the  evidence  of 
his  accusers,  Dr.  H.  said, '» The  poor  man  is  a  grievous  sinner  on  one 
Hide,  hut,  my  friends,  I  think  he  has  more  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness 
in  his  heart  than  all  the  rest  of  my  Church  together  !" 


Recollections  of  C/u'M/ioott.    •  25 

celebrated  Jeremiah  Mason.  She  died  within  the  year  of 
their  marriage,  of  small-pox,  which  she  caught  from  my  fa 
ther.  It  was  the  practice  of  those  times  in  our  rural  dis 
tricts  to  shut  patients  ill  with  this  hideous  disease  in  a  hos 
pital  (some  little  shanty  set  apart,  out  of  the  village,  and 
called  the  pock  house)  till  they  were  pronounced  beyond  the 
possibility  of  communicating  it.  My  father,  thus  certified, 
went  home  to  his  young  wife.  She  was  in  a  condition  that 
made  it  imprudent  to  take  inoculation.  It  was  believed  that 
she  caught  the  disease  from  combing  my  father's  hair,  which 
he  wore  long  and  tied  in  a  cue,  according  to  the  fashion  of 
the  times. 

My  father,  through  life,  cherished  the  most  tender  recol 
lections  of  this  poor  lady.  Not  long  after  her  death,  he  was 
lying  upon  the  bed  he  had  shared  with  her  (a  "  field  bed 
stead,"  with  a  bar  across  the  two  foot-posts),  and  unable  to 
sleep ;  he  said  to  himself, "  If  I  could  but  see  her  as  she 
was,  in  her  every-day  dress — see  her  once  more,  I  should  be 
comforted."  (Oh,  how  many  of  us,  Alice,  would  give  the 
world  for  that  one  sight  more,  one  look,  one  word  1)  Well, 
he  pondered  on  this  thought  till  suddenly  the  room  filled 
with  a  light — not  like  the  light  of  lamp,  not  like  a  thousand, 
the  brightest — not  like  the  light  of  the  sun,  but  a  heavenly 
radiance,  and  his  wife — his  young  wife,  her  face  lit  with  love 
and  happiness,  stood  leaning  over  the  bar  at  the  foot  of  his 
bed,  looking  on  him.  He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow;  he, 
wondering,  surveyed  her  from  head  to  foot,  and  fantastically, 
as  we  sometimes  do  in  our  strongest  emotions  observe  trifles, 
remarked  the  buckles  in  her  shoes ;  he  sprang  forward  to 
embrace  her — she  was  gone — the  light  was  gone — it  was  a 
dream.  "  If  I  had  one  particle  of  superstition,"  he  would 
say, "  I  should  believe  that  my  wife  had  appeared  to  me  1" 
And  yet  I  think  my  dear  father  had  that  particle  of  super 
stition,  for  through  his  whole  life  he  had  once  a  year  a  dream 

B 


26  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Setigwick. 

that  was  like  a  visitation  of  this  girl-wife.  She  always  came 
to  restore  to  him  those  days  of  young  romantic  love — the 
passages  of  after  life  vanished.  I  can  well  remember  the 
sweet,  tender  expression  of  his  face  when  he  used  to  say, "  I 
have  had  my  dream  !" 

I  do  not  know  precisely  the  period  that  elapsed  between 
my  father's  first  marriage  and  his  second  one  to  my  mother. 
It  was  not  long — not  much  more,  I  think,  than  the  canonized 
"year  and  a  day."  In  that  time  marriage  was  essential  to 
a  man's  life  ;  there  were  no  arrangements  independent  of  it, 
no  substitutions  for  it ;  and,  besides,  my  father  was  domestic 
in  his  disposition,  out-and-out  social ;  he  could  not  endure 
solitude  unless  he  were  intensely  absorbed  in  business,  and 
he  married.  My  mother  was  the  only  daughter  of  Brigadier 
Colonel  Dwight  and  my  grandmother,  who  had  been  the 
widow  of  the  excellent  missionary  Sergeant.  My  mother's 
family  (of  this  I  have  rather  an  indefinite  impression  than 
any  knowledge)  objected  to  my  father  on  the  score  of  fam 
ily,  they  priding  themselves  on  their  gentle  blood ;  but  as 
he  afterward  rose  far  beyond  their  highest  water-mark,  the 
objection  was  cast  into  oblivion  by  those  who  made  it. 

Their  union  was  a  very  perfect  one  :  reverence,  devotion, 
with  infinite  tenderness  on  her  side ;  respect,  confidence, 
and  unswerving  love  on  his.  Their  eldest  child  was  called, 
at  my  mother's  request,  Eliza  Mason,  after  the  first  wife — a 
proof  of  how  generous  and  unjealotts  she  was. 

I  have  just  (October  6th,  1853)  come  into  possession  of 
some  old  letters  which  have  carried  me  back  deep  into  the 
interests  of  my  parents'  lives,  and  to  give  you,  my  dear  child, 
some  notion  of  my  mother's  character,  her  wisdom,  her  con 
jugal  devotion,  and  self-negation,  I  copy  a  letter  she  wrote 
to  my  father  at  a  time  when  he  was  to  decide  whether  to 
continue  in  public  life  or  retire  from  it.  His  continuance 


Recollections  of  Childhood,  27 

involved  his  absence  from  her  during  the  winter,  when,  with 
very  delicate  health  and  a  nervous  temperament,  she  must 
be  left  for  many  months  in  this  cold  northern  country,  with 
young  children,  a  large  household,  complicated  concerns, 
and  the  necessity  of  economy.  A  distance  of  two  hundred 
and  eighty  miles — hence  to  Philadelphia — was  a  very  differ 
ent  affair  from  what  it  would  be  now.  The  winter  journey, 
if  most  prosperous,  would  occupy  five  or  six  days,  and  might 
twice  or  thrice  that  time,  so  that  it  was  nearly  as  grave  a 
question  as  it  would  be  now  whether  a  husband  were  to  pass 
his  winters  in  London.  N.B. — There  is  in  the  style  a  def 
erence  not  common  in  these  days,  and  you  will  observe, 
too,  an  old-fashioned  form  of  expression. 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dearest  Mr.  Sedgwick,  if  I  beg  you  once 
more  to  think  over  the  matter  before  you  embark  in  public 
business. 

"I  grant  that  the  'call  of  our  country,'  'the  voice  of 
Fame,1  and  '  the  HonwV  '  right  HoiV'V  are  high-sounding 
words.  '  They  play  around  the  head,  but  come  not  near  the 
heart.'  A  wish  to  serve  the  true  interests  of  our  country  is 
certainly  a  laudable  ambition,  but  the  intention  brings  many 
cares  with  it.  You  best  know  what  they  are,  as  you  have 
had  a  large  share  of  them  already. 

"The  new  government  is  yet  untried.  If  I  mistake  not, 
the  success  of  it  depends  more  on  the  virtue  and  economy 
of  the  people  than  on  the  wisdom  of  those  who  govern,  or 
the  uncommon  excellency  that  is  supposed  to  attend  the 
form. 

"  Should  the  people  find  they  are  not  happy  under  it,  the 
fault  will  all  be  in  their  rulers.  They  will  be  subjected  to 
the  envy  of  some,  the  reproach  of  others,  and  the  remarks 
of  all.  The  interest  of  your  family  deserves  some  atten 
tion.  Men  in  public  life  are  generally  dependent  in  more 
senses  than  one.  Should  you  find  your  circumstances  strait- 


28  jLtfe  of  Catharine  AT.  Sedgwick. 

ened  at  a  future  day,  I  know,  from  the  tender  affection  you 
have  for  your  children,  it  would  give  you  great  pain.  A  re 
turn  to  Congress  would  then  be  painful,  and  would  be  thought 
degrading.  On  my  own  account  I  will  say  nothing  but  that 
I  have  not  a  distant  wish  that  you  should  sacrifice  your  hap 
piness  to  mine,  or  your  inclination  to  my  opinion.  If,  on  the 
whole,  you  think  a  public  line  of  life  will  be  most  conducive 
to  your  interest  and  happiness,  I  will  pray  that  He  who  is 
alone  the  author  of  all  good  will  strew  peace  in  all  your 
paths.  Submission  is  my  duty,  and,  however  hard,  I  will  try 
to  practice  what  reason  teaches  me  I  am  under  obligation 
to  do." 

My  father  decided  for  public  life,  and  I  believe  my  mother 
never  again  expressed  one  word  of  remonstrance  or  dissat 
isfaction.  She,  no  doubt,  was  gratified  with  his  honorable 
public  career,  inasmuch  as  it  proved  his  worth,  but  I  think 
she  had  no  sympathy  with  what  is  called  honor  and  distinc 
tion  ;  she  was  essentially  modest  and  humble,  and  she  looked 
beyond, 

She  was  oppressed  with  cares  and  responsibilities  ;  her 
health  failed  ;  she  made  no  claims,  she  uttered  no  com 
plaints  ;  she  knew  she  was  most  tenderly  beloved,  and  held 
in  the  very  highest  respect  by  my  father,  but  her  physical 
strength  was  not  equal  to  the  demands  upon  her,  and  her 
reason  gave  way.  She  had  two  or  three  turns  of  insanity, 
which  lasted  each,  I  believe,  some  months  ;  I  know  not  how 
long,  for  I  was  too  young  to  remember  any  thing  but  being 
told  that  my  "  mamma  was  sick,  and  sent  away  to  a  good 
doctor."  This  physician,  I  have  since  learned,  was  a  Dr. 
Waldo,  of  Richmond,  who  took  my  mother  to  his  house,  and 
was  supposed  to  treat  her  judiciously  and  most  kindly.  But 
oh  1  I  can  not  bear  to  think — it  has  been  one  of  the  saddest 
sorrows  of  my  life  to  think  how  much  aggravated  misery  my 
dear,  gentle,  patient  mother  must  have  suffered  from  the  ig- 


Recollections  of  Childhood.  29 

norance  of  the  right  mode  of  treating  mental  diseases  which 
then  existed.* 

My  mother  may  have  had  a  constitutional  tendency  to 
insanity,  but  I  believe  the  delicate  construction  of  a  sensi 
tive  and  reserved  temperament,  a  constitution  originally 
fragile,  and  roughly  handled  by  the  medical  treatment  of 
the  times,  and  the  terrible  weight  of  domestic  cares,  will  suf 
ficiently  account  for  her  mental  illness  without  supposing  a 
cerebral  tendency  which  her  descendants  may  have  inher 
ited.  But  this  fear  may  be  wholesome  to  them,  if  it  lead  them 
to  a  careful  physical  training,  to  guarding  against  nervous 
susceptibilities  and  weakness,  and  to  avoiding  the  stimulants 
and  excitements  so  unfavorable  to  nervous  constitutions.  I 
firmly  believe  that  people  may  be  educated  out  of  a  heredita 
ry  tendency  to  insanity  more  surely  than  one  can  eradicate 
a  liability  to  consumption,  or  any  other  scrofulous  poison. 

I  am  sure  my  father  felt  throughout  his  public  career  a 
harassing  sense  of  the  suffering  it  occasioned  my  mother. 
In  a  letter  to  my  sisters,  then  young  girls,  dated  1791,  three 
years  after  the  letter  I  have  quoted  from,  he  says,  "  You  can 
imagine  how  much  the  conflict  between  a  sense  of  public 
duty  and  private  inclination  affected  my  spirits  and  temper 
while  I  was  at  home.  I  most  sincerely  endeavored  to  weigh 
all  circumstances,  and  to  discover  what  I  ought  to  do.  This 
I  believed  I  did,  but  the  struggle  was  severe  and  painful. '* 
****** 

"  The  description  you  give  of  her  patience  and  resignation 

*  Mumbct'was  the  only  person  who  could  tranquillize  my  mother 
when  her  mind  was  disordered — the  only  one  of  her  friends  whom  she 
liked  to  have  about  her — and  why  ?  She  treated  her  with  the  same  re 
spect  she  did  when  she  was  sane.  As  far  as  was  possible,  she  obeyed 
her  commands  and  humored  her  caprices ;  in  short,  her  superior  in 
stincts  hit  upon  the  mode  of  treatment  that  science  has  since  adopted. 


30  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

is  precisely  such  as  I  should  have  expected,  You  know 
not,  my  dear  children,  the  blessing  of  having  such  a  parent. 
While  she  possesses  all  the  softness  and  tenderness  which 
renders  woman  so  amiable,  she  has  a  greatness  and  noble 
ness  of  mind  which  I  have  hardly  known  equaled  by  her  sex. 
How  dignified,  how  exemplary  in  all  her  sufferings  1" 

In  the  same  letter  he  says,  "This  life  is  a  checkered 
scene.  I  myself  have  been  what  is  called  a  prosperous  man. 
I  have  reason  to  bless  God  I  have  been  less  unfortunate, 
even  in  my  own  opinion,  than  many  others.  To  the  view 
of  the  world,  I  have  been,  I  doubt  not,  an  object  of  envy. 
Connected  with  one  of  the  best  of  women,  blessed  with 
many  children,*  all  hopeful,  and  those  who  have  become 
more  advanced  of  good  characters  and  deserving  them,  in 
easy  circumstances,  respectable  fn  my  profession,  honored  in 
my  own  country,  and  known  and  respected  in  others,  yet  I  feel 
that  this  life  is  far  from  affording  felicity.  How  important 
is  it,  then,  that  our  hopes  should  not  rest  in  these  things  I 

"  May,  my  dear  children,  that  gracious  Being,  whose  good 
ness  has  done  better  for  me  than  I  deserved,  be  the  kind 
protector  and  guardian  of  my  beloved  offspring,  most  fer 
vently  prays  your  ever  affectionate  papa, 

"THEODORE  SEDOWICK." 

I  had  in  my  hand  yesterday  another  of  my  father's  letters, 
which  may  entertain  you  at  the  distance  of  time  you  live 
from  the  dynasty  of  Washington,  for  it  is  "  sixty  years  since." 

"  Philadelphia^  1794.  I  dined  yesterday  at  the  President's, 
where  I  was  treated  with  a  distinguished  partiality  very 
grateful  to  my  feelings.  The  President,  you  know,  never 
sits  at  the  head  of  his  table.  That  place  he  particularly  re- 

*  Jut'sc  Scdgwick  was  at  this  time  forty-six  years  old,  and  his  chil 
dren  were  seven  in  number;  Eliza,  Theodore,  Frances,  Harry,  Hubert, 
Catharine,  and  Charles. 


Recollections  of  Childhood.  3 1 

quested  me  to  take  ;  Mr.  Dandridge,  as  usual,  sat  at  the  oth 
er  end.  When  Mrs.  Washington  retired,  she  stopped  and 
desired  me  not  to  go  away  until  I  had  been  entertained  by 
JVe//y's*  playing.  Accordingly,  I  went  up  stairs,  and  the 
good  lady  requested  me  to  take  a  seat  on  the  sofa  by  "her. 
She  then  asked  if  I  had  any  particular  tune  which  was  a  fa 
vorite  with  me,  and  added,  fjFbr  Nelly  can  play  any  thing* 
Submitting  myself  to  her  taste,  to  prevent  discovering  that  I 
had  none,  Nelly  played  several  grave  and  solemn  tunes,  and 
accompanied  them  inimitably  with  her  voice.  Mrs.  Wash 
ington,  perceiving  me  unusually  solemn,  turned  to  Miss  Cus- 
tis  and  said,  with  her  usual  amiable  simplicity, '  Nelly,  play 
for  Mr.  Sedgwick  "  Chase  dull  care  away ;"  don't  you  see 
he  wants  to  be  enlivened  ?f  After  spending  with  the  good 
family  an  hour,  I  accompanied  them  to  a  concert  for  the 
benefit  of  a  French  family." 

These  were  victims  of  the  Revolution,  and  he  goes  on  to 
detail  particulars  of  several  then  in  Philadelphia,  among 
others  the  Due  de  Liancourt  and  the  Bishop  of  Autun.  But 
we,  in  our  day,  are  more  familiar  with  the  reception  of  ex 
iles  than  my  father  was,  and  you  and  your  contemporaries, 
dear  Alice,  are  like  to  have  the  opportunity  of  a  similar 
hospitality.! 

*  Miss  Eleanor  Custis,  Mrs.  Washington's  daughter. 

t  Front  Jti'fttinistfiicts  tlaU'it  July*  1812. 

In  the  year  1782,  just  at  the  close  of  our  Revolutionary  War,  my  fa 
ther  dined  with  the  officers  of  our  army  at  Vcrplanck's  Point.  The 
illustrious  Washington  was  there.  Just  before  the  sun  set,  Gen.  Wash 
ington  was  called  out.  My  father  then  rose  to  take  his  leave,  but  was 
deterred  by  the  general  requesting  him  to  stay,  and  telling  him  that  he 
would  show  him  something  which  he  was  sure  would  be  very  gratifying 
to  him.  The  roll  was  then  called,  and  all  the  troops  paraded.  Gen. 
Washington  then,  pointing  to  two  objects,  told  my  father  that  all  the 
men  between  them  were  from  Massachusetts,  and  made  one  hundred 
and  fifty  more  than  one  half  of  his  whole  army. 


32  Life  of  Cat/iari/it  M.  Scdgwick. 

I  copy  for  you  a  little  letter  written  by  my  father  to  his 
eldest  child  when  she  was  a  little  girl  of  ten  years.  It  is  a 
fair  sample  of  the  fond,  tender  letters  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
writing  periodically  and  punctually  to  his  children  while  he 
was 'immersed  in  the  most  important  national  affairs. 

"  Accept  my  thanks,  my  kind  and  good  child,  for  your 

When  my  father  was  first  elected  to  Congress,  which  was  not  till  after 
a  very  sharp  contest,  he  had  a  very  slight  acquaintance  with  Washing 
ton.  The  first  evening  he  arrived  at  the  scat  of  government  he  went 
with  a  friend  to  be  presented  at  the  President's  levee.  The  President 
immediately  recognized  him,  stepped  out  of  the  drawing-room,  gave  his 
hand  to  my  father,  and  told  him  he  was  very  glad  that  he  was  elected  at 
last. 

This  was  a  most  gracious  reception  from  a  man  characterized  by  a 
deportment  reserved  almost  to  severity.  To  my  father,  who  knew  how 
to  appreciate  even  a  look  from  the  greatest  man  of  any  age  or  country, 
it  was  a  mark  of  distinction  and  kindness  peculiarly  grateful. 

I  have  heard  my  father  relate  an  instance  of  the  repelling  dignity  of 
Washington's  manner  on  an  occasion  when  it  was  proper  for  him  to  re 
press  familiarity.  Gardoqui,  the  Spanish  minister,  at  one  of  the  gen 
eral's  levees,  advanced  from  the  crowd,  and,  with  an  air  perfectly  easy 
and  familiar,  slipped  his  arm  within  the  general's,  and  began  to  whisper 
to  him.  lie  only  began,  for  Washington  shook  him  off  with  a  look  that 
would  have  awed  temerity  itself.  Gardoqui  shrunk  back  into  the  crowd, 
and  paid  the  penalty  of  his  forwardness  in  silence  and  shame. 

On  the  last  day  of  Washington's  administration,  he  invited  my  father, 
with  Mr.  Ames  and  Mr.  Goodhue,  to  take  a  family  dinner  with  him. 
When  the  gentlemen  were  retiring,  he  begged  my  father  to  remain,  as 
he  said  he  had  a  great  deal  to  say  to  him.  *  *  *  *  The  President  spoke 
of  his  successor  as  a  man  of  science  and  integrity,  but  he  said  no  man 
would  be  the  worse  for  wise  counselors.  He  had  heard  that  my  father, 
Mr.  Ross,  and  some  others  purposed  withdrawing  from  tho  government, 
and  he  had  heard  it,  he  said,  with  deep  concern,  as  he  wished  that  such 
men  should  give  all  their  talents  and  influence  to  aid  this  last  experi 
ment  of  a  republic.  For  himself,  he  retired  that  he  might  be  a  specta 
tor,  as  it  was  a  common  remark  that  a  by-stander  was  a  better  judge  of 
a  game  than  one  of  the  parties  could  be.  Thus  he  modestly  expressed 
his  desire  to  see  how  our  chariot  of  state  would  move  when  he  who 
had  so  long  guided  it  in  safety  should  have  relinquished  the  reins. 


Recollections  of  Childhood.  33 

kind  and  pretty  letter  by  Mr.  E .  Believe  me,  my  sweet 

prattler,  that  you  can  not,  more  than  I  do,  regret  our  separa 
tion.  Should  it  so  happen  that  my  duty  will  permit,  I  will 
fly  on  the  wings  of  Love  to  see  and  embrace  my  lovely, 
sweet  children.  If  you  knew  how  happy  I  was  made  by  the 
information  that  you  are  a  good  child,  you  would  not  fail  to 
continue  to  be  so.  I  do  not  believe  you  will.  I  should  be 
miserable  if  I  did.  Remember,  my  love,  that  our  happiness 
or  our  misery  depends  chiefly  on  our  good  conduct,  and  you 
will  not  fail  to  endeavor  to  be  good.  Be  kind  to  your  mam 
ma.  She  is  good.  She  deserves  all  your  attention.  Re 
member  that  you  are  the  oldest  child,  and  that  you  can  re 
ward  your  parents'  care  by  a  good  example. 

"  Farewell.  I  heartily  pray  God  to  make  you  virtuous 
and  happy.'1 

In  all  his  letters  he  expressed  the  most  thoughtful  love 
for  my  mother,  and  the  highest  appreciation  of  her  charac 
ter.  When  fearing  a  recurrence  of  her  mental  malady,  he 
says,  "  Read  to  her,  or  persuade  her  to  read  diverting  books. 
Every  other  object  must  submit  to  an  attention  to  her.  Is 
company  diverting,  she  must  be  indulged  with  it.  Does  it 
increase  her  gloom,  it  must  be  kept  from  her.  She  is  the 
best  of  human  beings,  and  every  circumstance  of  business 
or  of  pleasure  must  be  made  to  submit  to  her  restoration." 

I  have  been  reading  a  mass  of  my  father's  letters  from 
1784  to  1789,  addressed  to  my  sister  Eliza  and  to  my  moth 
er.  My  sister  Eliza  resembled  my  mother  much  more  than 
Frances  or  myself.  She  had  her  modesty,  her  self-diffi 
dence,  her  humility.  This  was  a  constitutional  quality,  but 
so  authorized  and  enforced  by  their  religion  that  to  them 
both  it  took  the  potent  form  of  a  duty. 

I  rather  think  that  my  mother  was  intellectually  superior 
to  my  sister  ;  if  not  originally,  by  the  long  partnership  with 

B  2 


34  Life  of  Catharine  JkT.  Sedgwick. 

a  superior  mind  occupied  in  great  affairs.  Her  long  sepa 
rations  from  my  father  seem  to  have  been  almost  cruel  to 
her.  He  continually  laments  over  them,  and,  but  that  his 
compunction  is  tempered  by  the  conviction  of  an  overruling 
duty  to  his  country,  he  would  have  been  miserable.  Her 
sufferings  are  past,  and,  I  doubt  not,  prepared  her  to  enjoy 
more  keenly  the  rest  and  felicities  of  heaven.  The  good 
done  by  my  father  in  trying  to  establish  the  government, 
and  to  swell  the  amount  of  that  political  virtue  which  makes 
the  history  of  the  Federal  party  the  record  of  the  purest 
patriotism  the  world  has  known — t/iat  remains. 

You  do  not  seem  now,  my  dear  little  Alice,  like  one  who 
will  ever  be  curious  to  inquire  into  the  shades  of  political 
virtue  ;  but  who  knows  but  one  of  the  boys  may  one  day  be 
prying  into  his  ancestors'  history,  whose  pulses  will  beat 
quicker  for  the  testimony  I  give  to  my  father's  earnest  de 
votion  to  his  country. 

I  was  a  child  at  the  period  of  the  great  ferment  occasion 
ed  by  the  decline  of  the  Federal  party  and  the  growth  of 
the  Democratic  party.  My  father  had  the  habit  of  having 
his  children  always  about  him,  and  we  had  so  strong  a  sym 
pathy  with  him  that  there  was  no  part  of  his  life  which  we 
did  not  partake.  I  remember  well  looking  upon  a  Demo 
crat  as  an  enemy  to  his  country,  and  at  the  party  as  sure,  if 
it  prevailed,  to  work  its  destruction.  I  heard  my  father's 
conversation  with  his  political  friends,  and  in  the  spontane 
ous  expressions  of  domestic  privacy,  and  I  received  the  im 
pression  then  (and,  looking  back  with  a  riper  judgment,  I 
feel  assured  of  its  correctness)  that  the  Federal  party  loved 
their  country,  and  were  devoted  to  it,  as  virtuous  parents 
are  to  their  children.  It  was  to  my  father  what  selfish 
men's  private  affairs  are  to  them,  of  deep  and  ever-present 
interest.  It  was  not  the  success  of  men,  or  the  acquisition 
of  office,  but  the  maintenance  of  principles  on  which,  as  it 


RecoMcctions  of  Childhood.  35 

appeared  to  them,  the  sound  health  and  true  life  of  their 
country  depended.  They  dreaded  French  influence — they 
believed  Jefferson  to  be  false,  the  type  of  all  evil — they  were 
a  good  deal  influenced  by  old  prestiges — they  retained  their 
predilections  for  Great  Britain.  They  hoped  a  republic 
might  exist  and  prosper,  and  be  the  happiest  government  in 
the  world,  but  not  without  a  strong  aristocratic  element; 
and  that  the  constitutional  monarchy  of  Britain  was  the 
safest  and  happiest  government  on  earth,  I  am  sure  they 
believed. 

But,  firm  to  the  experiment  of  the  Republic,  they  had  no 
treasonable  thought  of  introducing  a  monarchy  here.  Their 
misfortune,  and  perhaps  the  inevitable  consequence  of  hav 
ing  been  educated  loyal  subjects  of  a  monarchical  govern 
ment,  was  a  thorough  distrust  of  "  the  people."  I  remem 
ber  my  father,  one  of  the  kindest-hearted  of  men,  and  most 
observant  of  the  rights  of  all  beneath  him,  habitually  spoke 
politically  of  the  people  as  "Jacobins,"  "  sans-culottes,"  and 
"miscreants."  He — and  in  this  I  speak  of  him  as  the  type 
of  the  Federal  party  —  dreaded  every  upward  step  they 
made,  regarding  their  elevation  as  a  depression,  in  propor 
tion  to  their  ascension,  of  the  intelligence  and  virtue  of  the 
country.  The  upward  tendencies  from  education,  and  im 
provements  in  the  arts  of  life,  were  unknown  to  them.  They 
judged  of  the  "people11  as  they  had  been,  as  were  the 
"  greasy,  unwashen  multitude"  of  Rome  and  of  Shakspeare's 
time — as  they  are  now  for  the  most  part  in  Europe,  utterly 
inexperienced  in  government,  incapable  of  attaining  to  its 
abstractions,  or  feeling  its  moralities. 

My  father  felt  it  to  be  his  duty  to  remain  in  public  life  at 
every  private  sacrifice — at  the  expense  of  his  domestic  hap 
piness,  his  home-love,  which  was  his  ruling  passion.  I  know 
he  must  have  felt  the  craving  that  all  men  conscious  of  pow 
er  feel  for  enlarging  the  bounds  of  their  horizon.  The  Mil- 


36  Lift  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

tons  are  not  content  to  be  "  inglorious,"  nor  the  Hampdens 
to  be  mere  "  villagers." 

Still  I  am  sure  that  nothing  short  of  a  self-devotion  to 
his  country's  good  would  have  induced  him  to  leave  my 
mother,  winter  after  winter,  tottering  under  her  burden  of 
care,  and  so  far  separate  himself  from  his  little  children, 
whose  lisping  voices  seemed  to  follow  him,  and  whose  loved 
images  were  ever  about  him.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  un- 
intermiuing  tenderness  of  his  letters  to  my  mother.  He 
never  failed,  in  any  pressure  of  business,  to  write  to  her  and 
to  his  children.  How  well  do  I  remember  the  arrival  of 
those  packets  I  The  mail  came  but  once  a  week,  and  then 
we  all  gathered  about  our  mother,  each  expecting,  and  very 
often  each  receiving,  a  letter  "  from  papa  !"  I  can  see  them 
now — the  form  of  the  letters — the  directions,  as  they  looked 
then.  I  <to  see  them  now,  time-worn  and  discolored,  but 
still  imbued  with  the  essence  of  my  father's  soul.  No  man 
was  in  his  affections  a  truer  image  of  Him  "who  is  love." 

My  mother,  after  years  of  decline  from  a  life  of  ill  health, 
died  in  1807,  at  the  age  of  fifty-four. 

The  portrait  I  have  of  her  was  as  faithful  a  likeness  as  so 
wretched  a  painting  could  be.  Bad  as  it  is,  it  will  give  you 
an  impression  of  her  personal  dignity,  and  of  the  sweetness 
and  sensibility  of  her  character,  and  of  her  temperament, 
which,  if  not  originally  a  sad  one,  became  melancholy  from 
her  tragic  personal  trials.* 

I  will  copy  here  a  character  of  her,  written,  I  think,  by  my 
brother  Harry.  It  has  a  little  of  the  stiffness  of  an  unac 
customed  pen,  and  the  formality  of  an  obituary,  but  it  was 
true  to  the  letter,  which  few  obituaries  are. 

"Mrs,  Pamela  Sedgwick, — In  attempting  to  offer  a  tribute 

*  A  good  engraving  from  this  picture  is  published  in  Griswold's  "  Re 
publican  Court,"  printed  in  1855. 


Recollections  of  C/iild/ioott.  37 

to  her  memory,  the  author  feels  the  most  trembling  solici 
tude.  That  eulogium,  which  ought  to  have  been  kept  sa 
cred  to  eminent  merit,  has  been  so  prostituted  to  vulgar  use 
and  on  unworthy  occasions,  that  there  remain  no  terms  by 
which  to  distinguish  such  virtue  as  was  that  of  this  most  ex 
cellent  woman. 

"Through  a  whole  lifetime  she  never  once  expressed  a 
feeling  of  impatience.  Such  was  the  strength  of  her  sub 
missive  piety ;  but,  from  the  sensibility  of  her  temper,  she 
was  often  afflicted  with  the  severest  anguish,  from  an  appre 
hension  that  her  life  was  useless. 

"  She  seemed  sweetly  to  repose  on  the  pillow  of  Faith, 
and,  when  tortured  by  pain  and  debilitated  by  disease,  she 
not  only  sustained  herself,  but  was  the  comfort,  support,  and 
delight  of  her  family. 

"  Her  sufferings,  in  degree  and  duration,  have  been  per 
haps  without  a  parallel,  but  they  reached  not  the  measure 
of  her  faith  and  her  patience.  Had  she  endured  less,  she 
would  never  have  exhibited,  and  her  friends  could  never 
have  estimated,  the  invincible  meekness  and  the  gentleness 
of  her  heavenly  temper.  It  may  not  be  profane  or  irrever 
ent  to  suppose  that,  with  some  distant  resemblance  to  our 
Redeemer,  she  did  not  suffer  solely  for  herself — that  her 
trials  and  her  piety  were  in  some  measure  designed  for  the 
instruction  of  others ;  and  we  may  be  permitted  to  hope 
that  her  example  and  her  memory,  by  their  influence  on  the 
heart  and  the  conduct,  will  contribute  to  the  eternal  welfare 
of  those  she  most  loved.  Many  whom  she  has  instructed  in 
the  spirit  and  practice  of  the  holy  religion  she  professed, 
and  many  whose  wants  and  pains  have  been  relieved  by  her 
bounty  and  soothed  by  her  attention,  will  gratefully  ac 
knowledge  that  this  is  but  a  faint  delineation  of  her  virtue, 
and  their  tears  will  confess  that,  though  the  sketch  is  imper 
fect,  it  is  not  false. 


38  Lift:  of  Catharine  JW. 

"  What  her  friends,  and,  above  all,  what  her  husband  and 
children  have  suffered,  must  be  left  to  the  conception  of  the 
reader — /*/  fan  not  bt  told.  But  it  is  hoped  that  they  will  try 
to  dismiss  all  selfish  regards,  and  to  rejoice  that  she  is  now ' 
where  the  righteous  have  their  reward,  and  the  weary  are  at 
rest. 

"  Stockbridge,  Sept.,  1807." 

Beloved   mother !     Even    at   this    distance   of  time,  the 
thought  of  what  I  suffered  when  you  died  thrills  my  soul ! 

My  father  felt  the  solitariness  of  his  home.  He  married, 
a  little  more  than  a  year  after  my  mother's  death,  Penelope 
Russell,  a  Boston  woman,  of  a  highly-respectable  family,  an 
agreeable  exterior,  and  an  attractive  vivacity.  My  father 
was  flattered  into  this  marriage  by  some  good-natured  friends 
who  believed  he  would  be  the  happier  for  it,  and  knew  she 
would.  Like  most  second  marriages  where  there  are  chil 
dren,  it  was  disastrous.  The  poor  lady  was  put  into  a  life 
for  which  she  was  totally  unfitted.  She  knew  nothing  of 
the  business  of  country  domestic  life,  and  her  ambition  to 
shine  in  it  was  simply  ludicrous  to  us,  and  onerous  to  her. 
She  fluttered  gracefully  enough  through  the  inanities  of  town 
drawing-rooms,  but  the  reality  and  simplicity  of  our  country 
life  was  insupportable  to  her.  We  were  all  matured  ;  I  was 
eighteen,  Charles  sixteen,  the  rest  all  married  or  away  from 
home — but  I  forget,  dear  Alice,  that  I  began  with  telling  you 
the  story  of  my  own  life,  and  that  I  shall  come,  in  due  time, 
to  this  chapter  of  its  experience.* 

*  As,  unfortunately,  this  autobiography  was  never  completed,  and 
breaks  off  with  the  close  of  its  writer's  childhood,  this  painful  subject 
may  be  closed  here  in  a  few  words. 

During  the  four  years  that  passed  between  Judge  Scdgwick's  last 
marriage  and  his  death,  his  children,  though  bitterly  grieved  at  seeing  a 


Recollections  of  C/tiM/iooif.  39 

I  was  born,  then,  in  1789,  December  28th,  in  a  bitter  cold 
night,  as  I  have  heard  my  Aunt  Dwight  say,  who  was  pres 
ent  on  the  occasion.  It  was  in  the  southwest  room  of  the 
dear  old  house,  that  which  your  Aunt  Susan  now  occupies 
as  her  parlor,  and  in  which  your  "  father  Charles"  was  born 
two  years  after,  in  December,  1791.  I  came  into  the  world 
two  months  before  I  was  due.  It  was  owing  to  this,  proba 
bly,  that  I  had  the  delicacy  of  complexion  which  made  my 
good  uncle,  Dr.  Sergeant,  and  "  Mumbet"  remember  me  as 
"  fair  and  handsome  as  a  London  doll."  I  know  nothing 
memorable  of  my  infancy  except  that  my  sister  Eliza, 
through  all  that  severe  winter,  slept  in  the  room  with  my 
mother,  and  got  up  in  the  cold  watches  of  the  night  to  feed 
me,  my  mother  being  unable  to  nurse  me.  What  such  a 
love-service  was  those  only  can  estimate  who  remember  our 
houses  before  the  winter  atmosphere  was  tempered  by  stoves. 

How  faint  and  few  are  the  recollections  of  a  childhood 
that  flowed  smoothly  on  the  current  of  love  !  I  remember 
my  first  attempt  to  say  "  Theodore"  and  "  Philadelphia," 
and  I  remember  a  trick  I  had  of  biting  the  glass  from  which 
I  was  drinking,  and,  from  a  comparison  of  dates,  this  was 
within  the  first  two  years  of  my  life.  Now,  my  darling,  don't 
think  I  am  superannuated  because  I  think  it  worth  while  to 
record  this.  It  is  associated  with  my  first  impression  of  my 
father.  I  remember  that  there  was  company  at  table — Miss 
Susan  Morton,  from  New  York.1*  I  remember  where  she 

woman  of  so  superficial  a  character  in  their  mother's  place,  never  failed 
in  deference  and  attention  to  the  companion  he  had  chosen,  and  so  un 
changed  was  their  reverential  love  for  him  that  he  probably  never  sus 
pected  their  unhappincss  on  this  account. 

Within  a  month  after  her  husband's  death,  Mrs,  Scdgwick  returned 
to  her  friends,  and  it  is  enough  to  say  of  her  that  she  left  a  family  all 
possessing  quick  sensibility,  and  governed  by  sincere  and  practical  re 
ligious  feeling,  without  having  inspired  either  respect  or  affection. 

*  Afterward  Mrs.  Quincy,  from  whose  Reminiscences  a  passage  is 
given  above  (aiitb,  p.  1(5.) 


40  jLife  of  Catharine  M.  Stdgwick. 

sat,  where  my  father  sat,  and  where  I  sat.  I  recall  perfectly 
the  feeling  with  which  I  turned  my  eye  to  him,  expecting  to 
see  that  brow  (which  all  his  life  long  marked  to  me  the  state 
of  his  feelings  as  distinctly  as  the  degrees  on  a  thermome 
ter  do  the  state  of  the  weather)  cloud  with  displeasure,  but 
it  was  smooth  as  love  could  make  it.  That  consciousness, 
that  glance,  that  assurance  remained  stamped  indelibly — 
and  I  think  I  have  never  known  a  greater  fear  than  to  see  a 
cloud  on  that  brow. 

How  trivial,  too,  are  the  recollections  of  childhood  I  The 
next  notch  on  my  memory  is  of  being  sent  over  to  Mrs. 
Caroline  Dwight,  to  borrow  a  boy's  dress  of  Frank  Dwight's, 
which  was  to  be  the  model  of  your  "  father  Charles's"  first 
male  attire.  Then  come  thronging  recollections  of  my 
childhood,  its  joys  and  sorrows — "  Papa's  going  away,"  and 
"  Papa's  coming  home  ;"  the  dreadful  clouds  that  came  over 
our  sunny  home  when  mamma  was  sick — my  love  of  Mum- 
bet,  that  noble  woman,  the  main  pillar  of  our  household — 
distinctly  the  faces  of  the  favorite  servants,  Grippy,  Samp 
son  Derby,  Sampson  the  cook,  a  runaway  slave,  "  Lady 
Prime,"  and  various  others  who,  to  my  mind's  eye,  are  still 
young,  vigorous,  and  alert  1  Not  Agrippa,  for  him  I  saw 
through  the  various  stages  of  manhood  to  decrepit  old  age. 
Grippy  is  one  of  the  few  who  will  be  immortal  in  our  village 
annals.  He  enlisted  in  the  army  of  the  Revolution,  and, 
being  a  very  well-trained  and  adroit  servant,  he  was  taken 
into  the  personal  service  of  the  noble  Pole,  Kosciusko.  Un 
like  most  heroes,  he  always  remained  a  hero  to  his  valet 
Grippy,  who  many  a  time  has  charmed  our  childhood  with 
stories  of  his  soldier-master.  One  I  remember,  of  which  the 
catastrophe  moved  my  childish  indignation.  Kosciusko  was 
absent  from  camp,  and  Agrippa,  to  amuse  his  fellow-servants, 
dressed  in  his  master's  most  showy  uniform,  and  blacked 
with  shining  black-ball  his  legs  and  feet  to  resemble  boots. 


Recollections  of  Childhood.  41 

Just  as  he  was  in  full  exhibition,  his  master  returned,  and, 
resolved  to  have  his  own  fun  out  of  the  joke,  he  bade  "  Grip" 
follow  him,  and  took  him  to  the  tents  of  several  officers,  in 
troducing  him  as  an  African  prince.  Poor  Grippy,  who  had 
as  mortal  an  aversion  practically  as  our  preachers  of  tem 
perance  have  theoretically  to  every  species  of  spirituous  liq 
uor,  was  received  at  each  new  introduction  by  a  soldier's  hos 
pitality,  and  compelled,  by  a  nod  from  his  master,  to  taste 
each  abhorrent  cup,  brandy,  or  wine,  or  "  Hollands,"  or 
whatever  (to  Grippy  poisonous)  potion  it  might  chance  to 
be,  till,  when  his  master  was  sated  with  the  joke,  he  gave 
him  a  kick,  and  sent  him  staggering  away.  I  think  Grippy 
was  fully  compensated  by  the  joke  for  the  ignominy  of  its 
termination.  He  had  a  fund  of  humor  and  mother-wit,  and 
was  a  sort  of  Sancho  Panza  in  the  village,  always  trimming 
other  men's  follies  with  a  keen  perception,  and  the  biting 
wit  of  wisdom.  Grippy  was  a  capital  subaltern,  but  a  very 
poor  officer.  As  a  servant  he  was  faultless,  but  in  his  own 
domain  at  home  a  tyrant.  Mumbet  (mamma  Bet),  on  the 
contrary,  though  absolutely  perfect  in  service,  was  never 
servile.  Her  judgment  and  will  were  never  subordinated 
by  mere  authority ;  but  when  she  went  to  her  own  little 
home,  like  old  Eli,  she  was  the  victim  of  her  affections,  and 
was  weakly  indulgent  to  her  riotous  and  ruinous  descendants. 
I  believe,  my  clear  Alice,  that  the  people  who  surround  us 
in  our  childhood,  whose  atmosphere  infolds  us,  as  it  were, 
have  more  to  do  with  the  formation  of  our  characters  than 
all  our  didactic  and  preceptive  education.  Mumbet  had  a 
clear  and  nice  perception  of  justice,  and  a  stern  love  of  it, 
an  uncompromising  honesty  in  word  and  deed,  and  conduct 
of  high  intelligence,  that  made  her  the  unconscious  moral 
teacher  of  the  children  she  tenderly  nursed.  She  was  a 
remarkable  exception  to  the  general  character  of  her  race. 
Injustice  and  oppression  have  confounded  their  moral  sense ; 


4a  JLife  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

cheated  as  they  have  been  of  their  liberty,  defrauded  at  whole 
sale  of  time  and  strength,  what  wonder  that  they  allow  them 
selves  petty  reprisals  —  a  sort  of  predatory  warfare  in  the 
households  of  their  masters  and  employers  —  for,  though 
they  now  among  us  be  free,  they  retain  the  vices  of  a  de 
graded  and  subjected  people. 

I  do  not  believe  that  any  amount  of  temptation  could  have 
induced  Mumbet  to  swerve  from  truth.  She  knew  nothing 
of  the  compromises  of  timidity,  or  the  overwrought  consci 
entiousness  of  bigotry.  Truth  was  her  nature — the  offspring 
of  courage  and  loyalty.  In  my  childhood  I  clung  to  her 
with  instinctive  love  and  faith,  and  the  more  I  know  and 
observe  of  human  nature,  the  higher  does  she  rise  above  oth 
ers,  whatever  may  have  been  their  instruction  or  accomplish 
ment.  In  her  the  image  of  her  Maker  was  cast  in  material 
so  hard  and  pure  that  circumstances  could  not  alter  its  out 
line  or  cloud  its  lustre.  This  may  seem  rhodomontade  to 
you,  my  child.  "  Why,"  you  may  exclaim,  "  my  aunt  could 
say  nothing  more  of  Washington,  and  this  woman  was  once 
a  slave,  born  a  slave,  and  always  a  servant  1"  Yes,  so  she 
was,  and  yet  I  well  remember  that  during  her  last  sickness, 
when  I  daily  visited  her  in  her  little  hut — her  then  inde 
pendent  home — I  said  then,  and  my  sober  after  judgment 
ratified  it,  that  I  felt  awed  as  if  I  had  entered  the  presence 
of  Washington.  Even  protracted  suffering  and  mortal  sick 
ness,  with  old  age,  could  not  break  down  her  spirit.  When 
Dr.  F.  said  to  her,  with  the  proud  assurance  of  his  spiritual 
office,  "  Are  you  not  afraid  to  meet  your  God  ?"  "  No,  sir," 
she  replied,  "  I  am  not  afeard.  I  have  tried  to  do  my  duty, 
and  I  am  not  afeard  1"  This  was  truth,  and  she  spoke  it 
with  calm  dignity.  Creeds  crumble  before  such  a  faith. 

Speaking  to  me  of  the  mortal  nature  of  her  disease,  she 
said,  "  It  is  the  last  stroke,  and  it  is  the  best  stroke." 

Her  expressions  of  feeling  were  simple  and  comprehcn- 


Recollections  of  Childhood.  43 

sive.  When  she  suddenly  lost  a  beloved  grandchild,  the 
only  descendant  of  whom  she  had  much  hope — she  was  a 
young  mother,  and  died  without  an  instant's  warning — I  re 
member  Mumbet  walking  up  and  down  the  room  with  her 
hands  knit  together  and  great  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks, 
repeating,  as  if  to  send  back  into  her  soul  its  swelling  sor 
row,  "  Don't  say  a  word  ;  it's  God's  will  I"  And  when  I  was 
sobbing  over  my  dead  inothpr,  she  said,  "  We  must  be  quiet. 
Don't  you  think  I  am  grieved  ?  Our  hair  has  grown  white 
together."  Even  at  this  distance  of  time  I  remember  the 
effect  on  me  of  her  still,  solemn  sadness.  Elsewhere,  my 
dear,  you  will  see  notices  of  the  memorable  things  in  her 
life,  and  I  need  not  here  repeat  them.*  Her  virtues  are  re 
corded,  with  a  truth  that  few  epitaphs  can  boast,  on  the 
stone  we  placed  over  her  grave.  Your  "father  Charles" 
wrote  the  inscription. 

My  dear  Alice,  I  wish  I  could  give  you  a  true  picture,  and 
a  vivid  one,  of  my  fragmentary  childhood — how  different 
from  the  thoughtful,  careful  (whether  judicious  or  injudi 
cious)  education  of  the  present  day. 

Education  in  the  common  sense  I  had  next  to  none,  but 
there  was  much  chance  seed  dropped  in  the  fresh  furrow, 
and  some  of  it  was  good  seed,  and  some  of  it,  I  may  say, 
fell  on  good  ground.  My  father  was  absorbed  in  political 
life,  but  his  affections  were  at  home.  My  mother's  life  was 
eaten  up  with  calamitous  sicknesses.  My  sisters  were  just 
at  that  period  when  girls'  eyes  are  dazzled  with  their  own 
glowing  future.  I  had  constantly  before  me  examples  of 
goodness,  and  from  all  sides  admonitions  to  virtue,  but  no 
regular  instruction.  I  went  to  the  district  schools,  or,  if  any 
other  school  a  little  more  select  or  better  chanced,  I  went  to 

*  Miss  S.  refers  to  an  article  on  Mumbet  which  she  wrote  for  some 
periodical,  whose  name  I  can  not  ascertain. 


44  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Stdgivick. 

that.  But  no  one  dictated  my  studies  or  overlooked  my 
progress.  I  remember  feeling  an  intense  ambition  to  be  at 
the  head  of  my  class,  and  generally  being  there.  Our  minds 
were  not  weakened  by  too  much  study ;  reading,  spelling, 
and  D wight's  Geography  were  the  only  paths  of  knowledge 
into  which  we  were  led.  Yes,  I  did  go  in  a  slovenly  way 
through  the  first  four  rules  of  arithmetic,  and  learned  the 
names  of  the  several  parts  of  speech,  and  could  parse  glibly. 
But  my  life  in  Stockbridge  was  a  most  happy  one.  I  en 
joyed  unrestrained  the  pleasures  of  a  rural  childhood ;  I 
went  with  herds  of  school-girls  nutting,  and  berrying,  and 
bathing  by  moonlight,  and  wading  by  daylight  in  the  lovely 
Housatonic  that  flows  through  my  father's  meadows.  I  saw 
its  beauty  then  ;  I  loved  it  as  a  playfellow ;  I  loved  the  hills 
and  mountains  that  I  roved  over.  My  father  was  an  ob 
server  and  lover  of  nature,  my  sister  Frances  a  romantic, 
passionate  devotee  to  it,  and  if  I  had  no  natural  perception 
or  relish  of  its  loveliness,  I  caught  it  from  them,  so  that  my 
heart  was  early  knit  to  it,  and  I  at  least  early  studied  and 
early  learned  this  picture  language,  so  rich  and  universal. 

From  my  earliest  recollection  to  this  day  of  our  Lord, 
i3th  October,  1853,  nature  has  been  an  ever  fresh  and  grow 
ing  beauty  and  enjoyment  to  me  ;  and  now,  when  so  many  of 
my  dearest  friends  are  gone,  when  few,  even  of  my  contem 
poraries,  are  left,  when  new  social  pleasures  have  lost  their 
excitement,  the  sun  coming  up  over  these  hills  and  sinking 
behind  them — the  springing  and  the  dying  year — all  changes 
and  aspects  of  nature  are  more  beautiful  to  me  than  ever. 
They  have  more  solemnity,  perhaps,  but  it  is  because  they 
have  more  meaning.  If  they  speak  in  a  lower  tone  to  my 
dimmed  eye-sight,  it  is  a  gentler  and  tenderer  one. 

What  would  the  children  now,  who  are  steeped  to  the  lips 
in  "  ologies,"  think  of  a  girl  of  eight  spending  a  whole  sum 
mer  working  a  wretched  sampler  which  was  not  even  a  tol- 


Recollections  of  Childhood.  45 

crable  specimen  of  its  species  I  But  even  as  early  as  that, 
my  father,  whenever  he  was  at  home,  kept  me  up  and  at  his 
side  till  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  to  listen  to  him  while 
he  read  aloud  to  the  family  Hume,  or  Shakspeare,  or  Don 
Quixote,  or  Hudibras !  Certainly  I  did  not  understand  them, 
but  some  glances  of  celestial  light  reached  my  soul,  and  I 
caught  from  his  magnetic  sympathy  some  elevation  of  feel 
ing,  and  that  love  of  reading  which  has  been  to  me  "edu 
cation." 

I  remember  a  rcma»k  of  Gibbon's  which  corresponds  with 
my  own  experience.  He  says  that  the  love  of  reading  with 
which  an  aunt  inspired  him  was  worth  all  the  rest  of  his  ed 
ucation,  and  what  must  that  "  rest"  have  been  in  the  balance 
against  the  pauperism  of  my  instruction  ! 

I  was  not  more  than  twelve  years  old — I  think  but  ten — 
when,  during  one  winter,  I  read  Roll  in 's  Ancient  History. 
The  walking  to  our  school-house  was  often  bad,  and  I  took 
my  lunch  (how  well  I  remember  the  bread  and  butter,  and 
"  nut-cakes,"  and  cold  sausage,  and  nuts,  and  apples,  that 
made  the  miscellaneous  contents  of  that  enchanting  lunch- 
basket  !),  and  in  the  interim  between  the  morning  and  after 
noon  school  I  crept  under  my  desk  (the  desks  were  so  made 
as  to  afford  little  close  recesses  under  them)  and  read,  and 
munched,  and  forgot  myself  in  Cyrus's  greatness  I 

It  was  in  those  pleasant  winters  that  Crocker  brought,  at 
the  close  of  the  afternoon  school,  "  old  Rover"  to  the  school- 
house  door  for  me  to  ride  home.  The  gallant,  majestic  old 
veteran  was  then  superannuated,  and  treated  with  all  the  re 
spect  that  waits  on  age.  I  believe  this  was  the  hardest  serv 
ice  he  rendered,  but  this  made  his  life  not  quite  a  sinecure, 
for  it  was  my  custom  and  delight  to  take  up  my  favorite 
school  friends,  one  after  another,  and  "ride"  them  home, 
putting  old  Rover  to  his  utmost  speed,  and  I  think  the  poor 


46  Life  of  Catharine  M. 

old  horse  caught  something  of  our  youthful  spirits,  for  he 
galloped  over  the  plain  with  us,  distancing  the  boys,  who 
were  fond  of  running  at  his  heels,  hurraing  and  throwing  up 
their  hats. 

I  was  a  favorite  with  my  school-mates,  partly,  I  fear,  be 
cause  I  had  what  the  phrenologists  term  an  excessive  love 
of  approbation,  and  partly  that  I  had,  more  than  the  rest, 
the  means  of  gratifying  them.  On  Saturday  it  was  usual  to 
appoint  two  of  the  girls  to  sweep  the  school-house  and  set 
it  in  order,  and  these  two  chose  a  third.  I  was  usually  dis 
tinguished  by  the  joint  vote  of  my  compatriots,  and  why  ? 
I  had  unlimited  credit  at  the  "  store,"  where  my  father  kept 
an  open  account,  and,  while  the  girls  swept,  I  provided  a 
lunch  of  Malaga  wine  and  raisins,  or  whatever  was  to  be  had 
that  suited  the  "sweet  tooth"  of  childhood.  I  well  remem 
ber  my  father's  consternation  when  he  looked  over  the  semi 
annual  bill,  and  found  it  dotted  with  these  charges,  "  per 
daughter  Catharine,"  in  country  fashion.  He  was  much 
more  amazed  than  displeased,  but  I  remember  he  cut  me 
off  from  thereafter  being  in  that  mode  "glorious"  by  a  "my 
dear  little  girl,  this  must  not  be  in  future."  What  would  our 
Temperance  zealots  say  to  so  slight  a  rebuke  on  such  an 
occasion  1  But  it  was  effectual,  and  left  no  stinging  sense 
of  wrong,  which  a  harsher  visitation  of  an  unconscious  error 
would  have  done. 

Oh,  how  different  was  my  miscellaneous  childhood  from 
the  driving  study  and  the  elaborate  accomplishments  of 
children  of  my  class  of  the  present  day  i  I  have  all  my  life 
felt  the  want  of  more  systematic  training,  but  there  were  pe 
culiar  circumstances  in  my  condition  that  in  some  degree 
supplied  these  great  deficiencies,  and  these  were  blessings 
ever  to  be  remembered  with  gratitude.  I  was  reared  in 
an  atmosphere  of  high  intelligence.  My  father  had  uncom 
mon  mental  vigor.  So  had  my  brothers.  Their  daily  hub- 


Recollections  of  Childhood.  47 

its,  and  pursuits,  and  pleasures  were  intellectual,  and  I  nat 
urally  imbibed  from  them  a  kindred  taste.*  Their  "  talk 
was  not  of  beeves,"  nor  of  making  money  ;  that  now  univer 
sal  passion  had  not  entered  into  men  and  possessed  them 
as  it  does  now,  or,  if  it  had,  it  was  not  in  the  sanctuary  of 
our  home — there  the  money-changers  did  not  come.  My 
father  was  richer  than  his  neighbors.  His  income  supplied 
abundantly  the  wants  of  a  very  careless  family  and  an  un 
measured  hospitality,  but  nothing  was  ever  given  to  mere 
style,  and  nothing  was  wasted  on  vices.  I  know  we  were 
all  impressed  with  a  law  that  no  prodigalities  were  to  be 
permitted,  and  that  we  were  all  to  spend  conscientiously; 
but  our  consciences  were  not  very  tender,  I  think,  and  when 
I  look  back  upon  the  freedom  of  our  expenditures,  I  wonder 
that  the  whole  concern  was  not  ruined.  I  don't  remember 
that  I  had  a  silk  frock  before  I  was  fourteen  years  old.  I 
wore  stuffs  in  winter  (such  fabrics  as  in  the  present  advanced 
condition  of  manufactures  a  factory-girl  would  scarcely  wear ; 
one  villainous  stuff  I  particularly  recall  for  school  wear, 
called  "  bird's-eye"),  and  calicoes,  and  muslinets,  and  mus 
lins  for  summer ;  but,  thus  limited  in  quality  and  variety,  I 
was  allowed  any  number  ;  and  I  remember  one  winter,  when 

*  My  brother  Robert  says  in  a  letter  to  my  father,  written  when  he 
was  between  twelve  and  thirteen,  in  a  school  vacation, "  We  have  fol 
lowed  your  directions,  which  were,  that  the  leisure  time  we  could  have 
wo  should  study  Horace,  which  wo  have  read  through,  and  expect  to  be 
gin  Cicero  dc  Oratore  next  term.  Wo  enjoyed  ourselves  at  Williams- 
town.  I  think  myself  quite  happy  when  I  am  reviewing  the  sublime 
works  of  Virgil.  His  works  are  incomparable,  and  the  beauty  of  almost 
nil  his  descriptions  is  inexpressible." 

Then  follows  a  rapturous  exclamation  at  Cicero's  eloquence,  and  a 
long  quotation  from  him.  In  the  same  letter  there  is  a  long  philippic 
against  the  "  Jacobins'1  and  their  proceedings  at  Willinmstown.  The 
letter  is  written  in  a  hand  such  as  few  sons  of  gentlemen,  even  of  that 
early  age,  would  now  write,  hut  (ho  subject*  intimate  mental  habits  and 
sympathies  not  common  to  boys  of  twelve. 


48  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

I  was  about  nine  or  ten,  being  particularly  unfortunate  in 
scorching  my  "bird's-eye,"  I  bought,  at  my  own  discretion, 
three  or  four  new  dresses  in  the  course  of  the  winter.  And 
in  ihe  article  of  shoes,  the  town-bought  morocco  slippers 
were  few  and  far  between,  but  I  was  permitted  to  order  a 
pair  of  calf-skin  shoes  as  often  as  I  fancied  I  wanted  them, 
and  our  village  shoemaker  told  me  in  after  life  that  his  books 
showed  fifteen  pairs  made  for  me  in  one  year  1  No  disre 
spect  either  to  his  fabrication  or  his  leather  ;  the  shoes  were 
burnt,  or  v/ater-soaked,  or  run  down  at  the  heel — sad  habits 
occasioned  by  the  want  of  female  supervision.  My  dear 
mother,  most  neat  and  orderly,  was  often  ill  or  absent,  my 
sisters  were  married,  my  father  took  no  cognizance  of  such 
matters,  and  I  had  a  natural  carelessness  which  a  lifetime 
of  consciousness  of  its  inconvenience  and  struggle  against 
it  has  not  overcome.  You,  dear  Alice,  are  brought  up  with 
all  the  advantages  of  order  in  both  your  parents.  But,  miss 
ing  this,  I  look  back  with  satisfaction  to  the  perfect  freedom 
that  set  no  limit  to  expansion. 

No  bickering  or  dissension  was  ever  permitted.  Love 
was  the  habit,  the  life  of  the  household  rather  than  the  law, 
or  rather  it  was  the  law  of  our  nature.  Neither  the  power 
of  despots  nor  the  universal  legislation  of  our  republic  can 
touch  this  element,  for  as  God  is  love,  so  love  is  God,  is  life, 
is  light.  We  were  born  with  it — it  was  our  inheritance.  But 
the  duty  and  the  virtue  of  guarding  all  its  manifestations,  of 
never  failing  in  its  demonstrations,  of  preserving  its  inter 
changes  and  smaller  duties,  was  most  vigilantly  watched, 
most  peremptorily  insisted  on.  A  querulous  tone,  a  com 
plaint,  a  slight  word  of  dissension,  was  met  by  that  awful 
frown  of  my  father's.  Jove's  thunder  was  to  a  pagan  be 
liever  but  as  a  summer  day's  drifting  cloud  to  it.  It  was 
not  so  dreadful  because  it  portended  punishment — it  was 
punishment;  it  was  a  token  of  a  suspension  of  the  approba 
tion  and  love  that  were  our  life. 


Recollections  of  Childhood.  49 

Have  I  given  you  an  idea  of  the  circumstances  and  edu 
cation  that  made  a  family  of  seven  children  all  honorable 
men  and  women — all,  I  think  I  may  say  without  exaggera 
tion,  having  noble  aspirations  and  strong  affections,  with  the 
fixed  principle  that  these  were  holy  and  inviolable  ? 

I  have  always  considered  country  life  with  outlets  to  the 
great  world  as  an  essential  advantage  in  education.  Besides 
all  the  teaching  and  inspiration  of  Nature,  and  the  develop 
ment  of  the  faculties  from  the  necessity  of  using  them  for 
daily  exigencies,  one  is  brought  into  close  social  relations 
with  all  conditions  of  people.  There  are  no  barriers  be 
tween  you  and  your  neighbors.  There  are  grades  and  class 
es  in  our  democratic  community  seen  and  acknowledged. 
These  must  be  every  where,  as  Scott  truly  says,"  except  among 
the  Hottentots,'1  but  with  us  one  sees  one's  neighbor's  private 
life  unveiled.  The  highest  and  the  lowest  meet  in  their  joys 
and  sorrows,  at  weddings  and  funerals,  in  sicknesses  and 
distresses  of  all  sorts.  Not  merely  as  alms-bearers,  but  the 
richest  and  highest  go  to  the  poorest  to  "  watch"  with  them 
in  sickness,  and  perform  the  most  menial  offices  for  them  ; 
and  though  your  occupations,  your  mode  of  life  may  be  very 
different  from  the  artisan's,  your  neighbor,  you  meet  him  on 
an  apparent  equality,  and  talk  with  him  as  members  of  one 
family.  In  my  youth  there  was  something  more  of  the  old 
valuation  than  now.  My  mother's  family  was  of  the  old  es 
tablished  gentry  of  Western  Massachusetts,  connected  by 
blood  and  friendship  with  the  families  of  the  "River-gods," 
as  the  Hawlcys,  Worthingtons,  and  Dwights  of  Connecticut 
River  were  then  designated.  My  father  had  attained' an  el 
evated  position  in  political  life,  and  his  income  was  ample 
and  liberally  expended.  He  was  born  too  soon  to  relish  the 
freedoms  of  democracy,  and  I  have  seen  his  brow  lower 
when  a  free-and-easy  mechanic  came  to  \\\&  front  door,  and 
upon  one  occasion  I  remember  his  turning  off  the  "cast 

C 


50  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

steps'1  (I  am  Sl"'£  not  kicking,  but  the  demonstration  was 
unequivocal)  a  grown-up  lad  who  kept  his  hat  on  after  being 
told  to  take  it  off  (would  the  President  of  the  United  States 
dare  do  as  much  now !);  but,  with  all  this  tenacious  adherence 
to  the  habits  of  the  elder  time,  no  man  in  life  was  kindlier 
than  my  father.  One  of  my  contemporaries,  now  a  venerable 
missionary,  told  me  last  summer  an  anecdote,  perhaps  worth 
preserving,  as  characterizing  the  times  and  individuals.  He 
was  a  gentle  boy,  the  son  of  a  shoemaker,  and  then  clerk  to 
the  clerk  of  the  court.  The  boy  had  driven  his  master  to 
Lenox,  and  all  the  way  this  gentleman,  conscious  that  his 
dignity  must  be  preserved  by  vigilance,  had  maintained  si 
lence.  When  they  came  to  their  destination,  he  ordered  the 
boy  to  take  his  trunk  into  the  house.  As  he  set  it  down  in 
the  entry,  my  father,  then  judge  of  the  Supreme  Judicial 
Court,  was  coming  down  stairs,  bringing  his  trunk  himself. 
He  set  it  down,  accosted  the  boy  most  kindly,  and  gave  him 
his  cordial  hand.  The  lad's  feelings,  chilled  by  his  master's 
haughtiness,  at  once  melted,  and  took  an  impression  of  my 
father's  kindness  that  was  never  effaced. 

There  were  upon  the  Bench,  at  the  time  my  father  was 
placed  on  it,  some  men  of  crusty,  oppressive  manners.  The 
Bar  were  not  treated  as  gentfemcn,  and  were  in  a  state  of 
antagonism,  and  some  of  them  had  even  determined  to 
leave  their  profession.  My  father's  kind,  courteous,  con 
siderate  manners  were  said  by  his  contemporaries  to  have 
produced  an  entire  change  in  the  relation  of  the  Bench 
and  Bar.  His  children,  from  instinct,  from  the  example  of 
their  parents,  and  the  principles  of  their  home,  had  that 
teaching  whose  value  Scott  so  well  expressed  in  the  "  For 
tunes  of  Nigel."  "  For  ourselves,"  he  says  (and  what  does 
he  not  say  better  than  another  man — not  to  say  any  other  !), 
"  we  can  assure  the  reader — and  perhaps,  if  we  have  ever 
been  able  to  afford  him  amusement,  it  is  owing  in  a  great 


of  Childhood*  5 1 

degree  to  this  cause — that  we  never  found  ourselves  in  com 
pany  with  the  stupidest  of  all  possible  companions  in  a 
post-chaise,  or  with  the  most  arrant  cumber-corner  that  ever 
occupied  a  place  in  a  mail-coach,  without  finding  that,  in 
the  course  of  our  conversation  with  him,  we  had  some  ideas 
suggested  to  us,  either  grave  or  gay,  or  some  information 
communicated  in  the  course  of  our  journey  which  we  should 
have  regretted  not  to  have  learned,  and  which  we  should 
have  been  sorry  to  have  immediately  forgotten." 

It  was  the  same  principle  by  which  Napoleon  made  him 
self  the  focus  of  every  man's  light  j  and  in  our  humble,  ob 
scure  village  life,  we  profited  by  this  "  free-trade"  school  of 
ideas.  There  were  no  sacrifices  made  of  personal  dignity 
or  purity  \  nor,  if  there  was  in  condition  or  character  a  lit 
tle  elevation  above  the  community  we  lived  in,  was  it  pre 
served  by  arrogant  vigilance  or  jealous  proscription. 

Three  of  my  brothers  were  my  seniors.  I  have  no  recol 
lections  of  the  eldest  during  my  childhood  ;  he  was  away  at 
school  and  at  college,  but  with  Harry  and  Robert  I  had  in 
timate  companionship,  and  I  think  as  true  and  loving  a 
friendship  as  ever  existed  between  brothers  and  sister. 
Charles  was  the  youngest  of  the  family,  and  so  held  a  pecul 
iar  relation  to  us  all  as  junior,  and  in  some  sort  dependent, 
and  the  natural  depositary  of  our  petting  affections.  I 
hardly  know  why,  but  I  believe  it  was  because  my  father 
could  not  bear  to  send  him  away  from  him,  that  his  means 
of  education  were  far  inferior  to  his  brothers1.  He  did  not 
go  to  college,  and,  except  a  year  or  two's  residence  at  Dr. 
Backus's,  in  Connecticut,  I  think  he  had  no  teaching  beyond 
that  of  our  common  schools.  He  had  extreme  modesty, 
and  a  habit  of  self-sacrifice  and  self-negation  that  I  fear  we 
all  selfishly  accepted.  I  do  not  think  it  ever  occurred  to 
him  that  he  was  quite  equal  to  his  brothers  in  mental  gifts, 


52  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

and  it  was  not  till  we  had  all  got  fairly  into  life  that  we  rec 
ognized  in  him  rare  intellectual  qualities.  His  /teartwas  al 
ways  to  us  the  image  of  God. 

But  all  my  brothers  were  beloved,  and  I  can  conceive  of 
no  truer  image  of  the  purity  and  happiness  of  the  equal 
loves  of  Heaven  than  that  which  unites  brothers  and  sisters. 
It  has  been  my  chiefest  blessing  in  life,  and,  but  that  I  look 
to  its  continuance  hereafter,  I  should  indeed  be  wretched. 

My  brother  Harry  was,  I  think,  intellectually  superior  to 
any  of  us.  He  had  a  wider  horizon,  more  mental  action, 
and  I  think  he  was  the  only  one  of  us  that  had  the  elements 
of  greatness.  But  he  had  great  defects  of  mind,  which,  co 
operating  with  the  almost  total  loss  of  his  eyesight,  led  to 
the  great  calamity  of  his  life.*  He  had  that  absence  of 
mind  and  fixidity  of  thought  so  dangerous  where  the  ten 
dencies  are  all  to  what  the  Germans  call  subjectivity.  Nev 
er  was  there  a  more  loving,  generous  disposition  than  his, 
nor  tenderer  domestic  affections. 

But  my  particular  and  paramount  love  in  childhood  was 
for  your  uncle  Robert.  We  were  bound  together  from  our 
infancy,  and  I  remember  instances  of  tenderness  while  he 
was  yet  a  little  boy  that  are  still  bright  as  diamonds  when 
so  much  has  faded  from  my  memory,  or  is  dim  to  its  eye. 

Once,  when  ransacking  the  barn  with  my  brothers  for 
eggs,  I  somehow  slipped  under  a  mass  of  hay,  and  was  so 
oppressed  by  it,  and  so  scared,  that  I  could  scarcely  make  a 
sound.  Robert  heard  my  faint  cries,  but  could  not  find  me, 
and  he  ran  to  call  my  father,  who,  with  some  friends  who 
happened  to  be  with  him,  soon  extricated  me.  From  their 
caresses  and  conversation  I  inferred  that  my  danger  of  suf 
focation  had  been  imminent,  and  I  looked  henceforward 
upon  my  favorite  brother  as  my  preserver.  How  brightly 

*  Mr.  Harry  Scdgwick  was  insane  during  the  last  few  years  of  his  life. 


Recollections  of  Childhood.  53 

are  some  points  in  our  childhood's  path  illuminated,  while 
all  along,  before  and  behind,  the  track  is  dim  or  lost  in  utter 
darkness  !  We  can  not  always  recall  the  feeling  that  fixed 
these  bright  passages  in  our  memory.  They  are  the  shrines 
for  our  hearts'  saints,  and  there  the  light  never  goes  out. 

Robert  was,  more  than  any  other,  my  protector  and  com 
panion.  Charles  was  as  near  my  own  age,  but  he  was 
younger,  and  a  feeling  of  dependence — of  most  loving  de 
pendence — on  Robert  began  then,  which  las  .ed  through  his 
life.  I  remember  once  when  1  was  ill,  and  not  more  than 
five  years  old,  his  refusing  to  go  out  and  play  with  "  the 
boys,"  and  lying  down  by  me  to  soothe  and  amuse  me. 
How  early  we  are  impressed  by  love  and  disinterestedness  1 
These  are  small  matters,  my  dear  child,  but  they  are  the  ce 
ment  of  household  loves. 

Manners  are  now  so  changed,  and  education  so  pressed, 
that  you  would  be  surprised  by  the  various  rustic  duties  then 
performed  by  the  sons  of  a  man  in  my  father's  position. 
In  the  progress  of  civilization,  offices  and  exercises  similar 
to  these  will  come  to  be  considered  a  healthy  part  of  a  high 
education.  They  do  the  mind  and  heart  good — the  mind 
by  forming  and  developing  observation,  the  first  faculty  Na 
ture  unfolds,  and  the  heart  by  awakening  and  cultivating 
sympathies  with  the  laboring  classes. 

It  was  the  duty  of  our  boys  to  drive  the  cows  to  pasture 
in  the  morning,  and  to  fetch  them  at  night,  and  our  pastures 
being  a  mile  distant,  this  was  rather  onerous.  Errands  were 
never-ending,  and  well  do  I  remember  being  very  early  im 
pressed  with  Robert's  fidelity  and  good  humor  in  discharg 
ing  these  ever-recurring  offices.  He  from  the  first  mani 
fested  a  keen  perception  of  the  ludicrous,  and  a  most  inno 
cent  love  of  it.  A  short  time  before  my  sister  Frances's 
confinement  with  her  first  child,  and  while  I  was  staying 
with  her,  my  father  came  to  New  York  in  midwinter,  then  a 


54  £*fe  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

formidable  journey,  to  bring  Mumbet  to  nurse  her.     Robert 
came  with  them.     My  dear  mother,  before  this,  had  the  at 
tack  of  paralysis  which  cut  her  off  from  the   care   of  her 
family.     My  father  had  employed  as  housekeeper  and  gen 
eral  family  directress  my  aunt,  the  widow  of  my  mother's 
half-brother.     She  had  the  strictest  integrity  and  the  kind 
est  intentions,  with  strong  sense,  and  a  love  of  intellectual 
pleasures.     She  had  been  bred   in  a  large  family,  which 
owed  its  preservation  and  advancement  to  habits  of  the 
strictest  economy.     With  principles  and  habits  engendered 
by  education,  and  made  firm  as  a  rock  by  stern  necessity, 
she  came  into  an  affluent  family,  unaccustomed  to  restric 
tion,  with  streams  of  expense  flowing  out  on  every  side, 
which  she  felt  bound  in  conscience  to  stop.     My  father 
honored  her  intentions  en  masse  t  and  laughed  at  the  details, 
and  his  children  caught  the  laugh  without  imbibing  the  rev 
erence.     She  fitted  Robert  out  for  this  first  visit  to  New 
York  with  a  pair  of  pantaloons  of  home-made  cloth,  and 
dyed  with  butternut-bark,  which  made   a   sort  of  motley 
brown.     For  f«3te  occasions  he  had  a  pair  remodeled  from 
his  brother  Theodore's,  blue  broadcloth  worn  to  fragility,  so 
thin  that  Robert  said  he   could   not  look  at  them  without 
making  a  rent,  nor  at  the  butternuts  without  the  dye  coming 
off.    Whether  this  absurd  infliction  of  economy  was  relieved 
by  a  resort  to  New  York  tailors  I  do  not  remember,  but  I 
rather  think  not,  as  a  recourse  to  so  expensive  a  mode  of 
supply  for  a  country  boy  of  thirteen   was   scarcely  to  be 
thought  of  in  those  days  of  severe  simplicity.      Certainly  the 
sixty  pantaloons   that  one   of  the  New  York  coxcombs  is 
said  to  have  brought  home  from  Paris  never  afforded  half 
the  pleasure  that  these  rustic  garments  did  to  us. 

Robert  always  maintained  that  when,  walking  with  him,  I 
saw  in  the  distance  a  city  acquaintance,  I  played  the  Levite, 
darted  across  the  street,  and  walked  on  the  other  side. 


Recollections  of  Childhood.  55 

When  at  home,  and  dressed  in  his  gossamers  (he  never  ven 
tured  out  in  them),  he  scared  a  rigidly  decorous  maiden  sis 
ter  of  Mr.  Watson  half  out  of  her  wits  by  every  now  and  then 
exclaiming,  "  There  they  go  1"  the  poor  lady's  imagination 
painting  the  catastrophe. 

What  changes  in  our  domestic  modes  since  then,  when 
vestiges  of  patriarchal  life  lingered  among  us  1  My  father 
had  flocks  of  sheep,  and  after  shearing-time  women  came 
and  took  the  fleeces,  and  spun  and  wove  them  at  their 
homes.  All  the  servants'  clothing  was  of  this  home-made 
cloth,  as  well  as  the  overcoats  of  "  the  boys,"  and,  I  believe, 
all  their  common  winter  clothes.  Carpets  perdurable  and 
well-looking  were  made  in  this  way,  and  rugs,  and  woolen 
sheets,  essential  when  our  houses  had  no  stoves,  and  fires 
out  of  the  parlor,  kitchen,  and  "  mamma's  room"  were  an 
unknown  luxury. 

This,  my  first  winter  in  New  York,  when  I  was  eleven 
years  old,  was  an  era  to  me,  though  I  do  not  remember 
much  of  it.  I  had  the  best  teaching  of  an  eminent  profess 
or — of  dancing,  M.  Lalliet,*  and  had  a  French  master  who 
came  three  times  a  week,  and  who,  to  my  brother  Robert's 
infinite  amusement,  complimented  my  "  grancle  apprehen 
sion,"  but  who,  as  far  as  I  can  recollect,  taught  me  nothing, 
because,  as  I  imagine,  I  preferred  reading  pleasant  books, 
and  being  petted  by  pleasant  people,  to  the  task  of  learning 
lessons. 

It  was  at  this  early  period  of  our  lives  that  your  Aunt  Su 
san  and  I  first  met.  Could  it  have  been  foreseen  by  any 
cast  of  our  horoscopes  how  lovingly  our  destinies  were  to 
mingle  ?  In  that  pleasant  dancing-room  in  Droad  Street  we 

*  When  I  think  that  then  there  was  but  one  accepted  French  dancing- 
master  in  New  York  where  now  there  are  nearly  a  million  inhabitants, 
I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  on  the  earth  as  long  as  the  Wandering  Jew  I 


56  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgivick.       ^ 

two  country-girls  met.  She  had  been  sent  to  her  uncle, 
Brockholst  Livingston,  then  an  eminent  judge  in  the  United 
States  Court,  to  be  perfected  in  the  arts  and  graces  of  young 
ladies.  Her  rare  intelligence  had  been  developed  by  rare 
opportunities.  She  had  led  a  romantic  life  for  three  or  four 
years  on  our  frontier,  living  partly  in  a  fort  with  Gen.  Har 
rison,  afterward  President  of  the  United  States.  She  had 
that  rare  gift,  refinement,  cultivated  by  high  breeding,  and 
she  revolted  from  the  rantipole  manners  of  the  undisciplined 
crew  of  girls  around  her.  Susan  Ridley  was  my  senior  by 
eighteen  months.  She  remembered  noticing  a  quiet  little 
girl,  whose  behavior  was  rather  a  contrast  to  that  of  the 
rabble  rout ;  she  was,  she  said,  interested  by  her  demeanor, 
and  her  face,  and  her  abundant  curling  hair  ;  she  longed  for 
her  companionship  ;  she  did  not  even  know  her  name  till 
one  day  she  picked  up  a  pocket-handkerchief  the  girl  drop 
ped,  and  found  marked  on  it  with  hair — no  indelible  ink  in 
those  days ! — C.  M.  Sedgivick,  the  name  she  was  to  bear, 
and  enrich,  and  transmit.  But  we  were  yet  to  remain  stran 
gers.  My  less  fastidious  sympathies  soon  bound  me  up 
with  the  romping  girls,  and  my  future  sister  remained 
apart. 

About  two  years  after,  we  met  at  Mrs.  Bell's  boarding- 
school  in  Albany.  She  was  just  finishing  a  term  of  two 
years  when  I  entered  as  a  day-scholar.  This  school  had  en 
joyed  great  reputation,  and  was  sustained  by  the  first  families 
in  the  land.  Mrs.  Bell  was  a  decayed  gentlewoman,  of  Irish 
descent  (indeed,  I  rather  think  born  in  Ireland),  who  had 
been  much  in  the  society  of  clever  men,  had  a  very  cheerful 
disposition,  and  various  social  talents.  But  alas  1  I  had  al 
ready  too  much  social  taste  and  facility,  and  the  bane  of  my 
life — a  want  of  order  and  system — found  no  antidote  there. 
Mrs.  Bell  was  a  serious  invalid,  and  had  become  a  regular 
valetudinarian  in  all  her  habits.  She  rose  late,  was  half  the 


Recollections  of  Childhood,  57 

time  out  of  her  school,  and  did  very  little  when  in  it.  But 
she  was  always  ready  to  throw  out  poetic  riddles  and  co 
nundrums  that  charmed  us,  and  all  the  more  that  they  gen 
erally  involved  some  little  love-preference  or  romantic  inci 
dent  of  the  school-girls'  life.  She  had  decided  leanings  to 
ward  those  pupils  who  were  cleverest  and  socially  most  at 
tractive,  and  connected  with  her  friends  out  of  school  bounds. 
She  liked  to  have  us  with  her  in  the  evening,  and  to  attract 
to  her  circle  the  intelligent  people  within  her  reach. 

Susan  Ridley  was  about  leaving  the  school,  a  full-grown, 
very  elegant,  and,  according  to  the  standard  of  those  times, 
a  very  accomplished  young  woman.  My  brother  Theodore 
introduced  me  at  the  school.  I  was  received  by  Miss  Bax 
ter,  the  niece  and  assistant  of  Mrs.  Bell,  with  a  practiced, 
easy  air,  and  a  sweeping  courtesy  that  daunted  the  poor  lit 
tle  rustic.  It  was  the  peacock  spreading  1m  tail  before  a 
poor  little  straggler  from  the  coop  j  and  when  my  brother  aft 
erward  reproved  my  "  little  dot  of  a  courtesy,"  I  was  ready 
to  sink  into  the  ground. 

I  remained  at  the  noon  recess,  and  a  beautiful  girl,  An 
gelica  Gilbert,  afterward  a  belle  in  New  York,  with  a  sweet 
and  graceful  courtesy  that  made  a  lasting  impression  on  me, 
offered  to  teach  me  (an  unknown  art  to  me  then)  rope- 
jumping.  When  I  was  fairly  inducted,  and  tying  on  my  hat 
to  go  home,  one  of  the  mannerless  girls  shouted  out  to  me, 
"  Give  Miss  Ridley's  love  to  your  brother  !"  I  turned,  and 
saw  a  delicate,  fair,  and  elegant  girl  overpowered  with  con 
fusion,  and  blushing  up  to^he  roots  of  her  soft  brown  hair, 
who  cried  out  to  me,  "  Oh  don't,  don't  1"  In  fact,  some 
months  before  this  time,  a  mutual  interest  between  her  and 
my  brother  Theodore  had  begun,  which  continued  through 
their  most  happy  marriage  with  a  purity,  strength,  and  mu 
tual  confidence  and  joint  blessing  to  others  that  might  au 
thorize  and  confirm  the  belief  that  "  marriages  are  made  in 

C   2 


58  Life  of  Catharine  Af. 

heaven."  From  that  hour  she  was  my  dear  friend,  without 
variableness  or  shadow  of  turning,  I  may  say  without  irrev 
erence,  for  she  has  intensely  struggled  to  conform  to  the  ad 
monition,  "  Be  ye  perfect  as  your  Father  in  heaven  is  per 
fect,"  and  has  succeeded  as  far  as  human  infirmity  admits. 

She  was  naturally  drawn  to  me.  I  can  take  little  credit 
for  this ;  I  loved  her  enthusiastically,  and  never,  I  am  sure, 
desired  any  good  for  myself  more  earnestly  than  her  hand 
for  my  brother.  She  remained  but  a  short  time  at  school, 
but  even  then  we  began  a  correspondence  that  has  contin 
ued  to  this  time.  We  had  a  mail-bag  hanging  in  the  school, 
which  was  each  day  filled  and  discharged.  Of  course,  as 
you  may  suppose,  dear  Alice,  I  was  a  large  contributor  to 
this  daily  literature. 

There  was  another  gifted  girl  at  the  school,  Mary  North. 
She  became  a  /over  of  mine,  and  was  jealous  of  every  school 
girl  that  I  liked.  She  had  been  much  flattered  by  her  elders, 
she  was  conscious  of  superiority,  and  thought  the  first  place 
was  her  right.  To  me  she  was  affectionate  and  true.  She 
was  handsome  too,  which  is  not  reckoned  a  secondary  gift 
to  a  woman.  She  disappointed  expectation  by  her  early 
death — I  think  she  was  not  more  than  seventeen  when  she 
died.  I  hav-2  retained  to  this  day  a  grateful  recollection  of 
her — grateful,  because  she  once  honestly  and  kindly  told  me 
of  a  besetting  infirmity  of  mine,  and  made  me  earnestly  de 
sire  to  eradicate  it.  It  is  not  her  fault  that  I  have  not.  You 
will  see,  my  dear  Alice,  that  I  had,  if  not  the  legitimate 
means  of  instruction,  at  least  some  rare  advantages  in  my 
school-days — the  elevating  society  and  friendship  of  a  supe 
rior  woman,  and  cultivated  companions  and  friends  who  en 
riched  my  mind,  though  it  was  not  laid  out,  planted,  and 
tilled  quite  in  the  right  way. 

.,  1854, — Another  year  is  gone,  and  I  am  ad- 

• 


Recollections  of  Childhood.  59 

monished  that  few  can  remain  to  me,  and  this  day,  at  12  M., 
alone  in  my  little  parlor,  your  dear  father  and  mother  here 
on  their  annual  visit,  having  just  finished  telling  a  fairy  tale 
to  you,  and  Will,  and  Lucy  Pike,  I  have  taken  my  pen  to 
note  some  changes  in  the  condition  of  our  village  since  I 
was  young.  I  remember  the  making  of  the  turnpike  through 
Stockbridge — I  think  it  must  have  been  about  forty  years 
ago — and  that  was  a  great  event  then,  for  it  enabled  us  to 
have  a  stage-coach  three  days  in  the  week  from  Boston  to 
Albany,  and  three  from  Albany  to  Boston.  In  due  time 
came  the  daily  coach,  arriving,  after  driving  the  greater  part 
of  the  night,  the  middle  of  the  second  day  from  Boston. 

It  then  seemed  there  could  be  nothing  in  advance  of  this. 
Your  uncle  Theodore  has  the  honor  of  being  the  first  per 
son  who  conceived  the  possibility  of  a  railroad  over  the 
mountains  to  Connecticut  River.  He  proposed  it  in  the 
Legislature,  and  argued  so  earnestly  for  it,  that  it  became  a 
very  common  reproach  to  him  that  he  was  crazy.  Basil 
Hall,  when  he  was  in  Stockbridge,  ridiculed  the  idea,  and 
said  to  your  uncle,  "If  you  had  it,  what  would  you  carry 
over  it  ?''  He  did  not  live  to  be  confuted,  nor  your  uncle  to 
witness  the  triumph  of  his  opinion,  but  I  have  lived  this  very 
summer  to  travel  to  the  Mississippi  by  rail  1 

The  daily  coach  was  a  great  advance  on  my  earliest  ex 
perience,  when  a  mongrel  vehicle,  half  wagon,  half  coach, 
drawn  by  horses  that  seemed  to  me  like  Time  to  the  Lover, 
came  once  a  week  from  New  York,  letting  the  light  from  the 
outer  world  into  our  little  valley,  and  bringing  us  letters  from 
"  papa."  Now,  at  3  P.M.,  we  read  the  paper  issued  the  same 
morning  at  New  York. 

We  had  one  clergyman  in  Stockbridge,  of  sound  New  En 
gland  orthodoxy,  a  Hopkinsian  Calvinist.  Heaven  forbid, 
dear  Alice,  that  you  should  ever  inquire  into  the  splitting  of 
these  theological  hairs  !  Sixty  years  he  preached  to  us,  and 


60  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

in  all  that  time,  though  there  may  have  been  at  some  ob 
scure  dwelling  a  Methodist  or  Baptist  ranter,  the  "  pious*' 
of  the  town  all  stood  by  the  Doric  faith.  The  law  then  re 
quired  each  town  to  support  a  clergyman,  and  his  salary 
was  paid  by  taxation.  The  conscience  was  left  free  ;  he 
who  preferred  to  dissent  from  the  prevailing  religion  could, 
on  assigning  his  reasons, "  sign  off;"  but  I  believe  he  was 
required  to  transfer  his  allegiance  to  some  other  ministry. 
Now  the  clergy  are  supported  by  the  voluntary  system,  and 
a  man  may  revert  to  heathenism  (some  do !),  and  no  man 
call  him  to  account.  I  have  elsewhere  and  repeatedly  de 
scribed  our  good  pastor  of  sixty  years — stern  as  an  old  Isra 
elite  in  his  faith,  gentle  and  kindly  in  his  life  as  "  my  Uncle 
Toby."  I  dreaded  him,  and  certainly  did  not  understand 
him  in  my  youth.  He  was  then  only  the  dry,  sapless  em 
bodiment  of  polemical  divinity.  It  was  in  my  mature  age 
and  his  old  age  that  I  discovered  his  Christian  features,  and 
found  his  unsophisticated  nature  as  pure  and  gentle  as  a 
good  little  child's.  He  stood  up  in  the  pulpit  for  sixty 
years,  and  logically  proved  the  whole  moral  creation  of  God 
(for  this  he  thought  limited  to  earth,  and  the  stars  made  to 
adorn  man's  firmament)  left  by  him  to  suffer  eternally  for 
Adam's  transgression,  except  a  handful  tlectdtl  to  salvation, 
and  yet  no  scape-grace,  no  desperate  wretch  within  his  ken 
died  without  some  hope  for  his  eternal  state  springing  up 
in  the  litile  doctor's  merciful  heart.  Some  contrite  word, 
some  faint  aspiration,  a  last  slight  expression  of  faith  on  the 
death-bed,  a  look,  was  enough  to  save  this  kind  heart  from 
despair  of  any  fellow-creature. 

Dr.  West  belonged  to  other  times  than  ours.  His  three- 
cornered  beaver,  and  Henry  Ward  Beecher's  Cavalier  hat, 
fitly  denote  the  past  and  present  clerical  dynasties  ;  the 
first  formal,  elaborate,  fixed  ;  the  last  easy,  comfortable, 
flexible,  and  assuming  nothing  superior  to  the  mass. 


Recollections  of  Childhood.  6 1 

I  will  try  to  sketch  the  doctor's  outward  man  for  you. 
He  was  not,  I  think,  above  five  feet  in  height.  His  person 
was  remarkably  well-made  and  erect,  and  1  think  the  good 
little  polemic  was  slightly  vain  of  it,  for  I  remember  his  gar 
ments  fitted  accurately,  and  nice  hose  (in  summer  always 
of  black  silk)  displayed  a  handsome  calf  and  ankle,  and  his 
shining  black  shoes  and  silver  buckles  impressed  even  my 
careless  eye.  He  had  good  teeth,  then  a  rare  beauty,  even 
to  his  greatest  age,  but  all  his  features  were  graceless,  and 
there  was  nothing  approaching  comeliness  of  form  or  ex 
pression,  but  an  eye  ever  ready  to  flow  with  gentle  pity  and 
tender  sympathy.  His  hair  was  cut  a  la  Cromwell,  as  if  a 
bowl  had  been  inverted  on  his  head,  and  his  foretop  cut  by 
its  rim.  His  knock  at  the  "  east  door"  was  as  recognizable 
as  his  voice ;  that  opened  to  him,  he  came  in,  and,  taking 
off  his  hat,  saluted  each  member  of  the  family,  down  to  the 
youngest,  with  the  exact  ceremony,  and  something  of  the 
grace  of  a  French  courtier ;  he  then  walked  up  to  the  table 
between  the  two  front  windows,  4^Posllec^  tne  three-corner 
ed  beaver,  put  his  gloves  in  his  hat,  and  his  silver-headed 
cane  in  the  corner,  and  then,  taking  a  little  comb  from  his 
pocket,  he  smoothed  down  his  thin  locks,  so  that  every  num 
bered  hair  on  his  head  lay  in  its  appointed  place.  Then 
the  dear  little  gentleman  sat  down,  and  compressed  the  ge 
niality  of  his  nature  into  the  social  hour  that  followed,  be 
ing,  during  that  hour,  uniformly  served  with  the  fitting  type 
of  that  geniality — a  good  glass  of  wine.  These  visits  oc 
curred  always  once  a  week  ;  and,  if  any  temporalities  in  the 
Church  required  confidence  or  consultation,  as  much  often- 
er  as  he  felt  the  want  of  my  father's  sympathy  or  advice,  for 
it  was  rather  noticeable  that,  for  these  purposes,  he  prefer 
red  my  father  to  any  or  all  of  the  "  elect.11 

Poor  old  gentleman  !  his  last  days  were  not  his  best  days. 
He  had  a  colleague  who  was  a  sneaking  fellow,  frequenting 


6 2  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 


men  and  women  gossips,  and  fabricating  scandal  against 
the  little  doctor  and  his  second  help-meet,  and  endeavoring 
thereby  to  monopolize  to  himself  the  favor  of  the  parish  and 
the  whole  salary.  The  doctor's  age  had  imposed  seclusion  ; 
he  was  personally  almost  a  stranger  to  the  generation  just 
grown,  and  suddenly  it  was  discovered  that  the  greater  part 
of  his  people  were  alienated  from  him,  and  that  many  be 
lieved  that  he  and  his  wife  lived  in  a  drunken  companion 
ship.  Those  who  knew  the  almost  Judaical  regularity  and 
strictness  of  his  life  and  the  truth  of  hers  earnestly  adhered 
to  them.  Council  after  council  was  called,  the  town  was 
divided  into  factions.  Mrs.  W ,  a  feeble,  trembling,  tim 
id  old  lady,  was  barbarously  put  upon  trial,  as  cruel  as  the 
"  putting  to  the  question,"  and  no  satisfactory  evidence  ap 
peared  against  her.  Then  the  doctor's  life  and  habits  were 
put  to  proof;  after  numerous  hearsays  were  detailed,  and 
rags  of  gossip,  that  had  been  manufactured  by  the  colleague, 

S ,  and  passed  from  hand  to  hand,  were  disposed  of, 

Parson  Kinne  was  calleo^up.  He  was  an  old  polemic,  a 
man  of  stanch  honesty,  whose  truth  no  man  believed  could 

be   shaken.     He  had   resided   in  Dr.  W 's  family  six 

months  at  a  time.     He  had  been  so  scrupulously  reserved 

that  no  one  knew  what  he  would  testify ;  S believed  il 

would  be  full  against  the  doctor,  and  we,  his  friends,  shiv 
ered  lest  the  good  old  man  might  have  been  perverted  from 
a  right  judgment  by  the  crafty  communications  and  insinu* 

ations  of  S ,  and  might  have  misinterpreted  the  doctor's 

habit  of  taking  a  single  cheerful  glass  during  the  day. 
Kinne  was  as  grotesque  in  looks  and  manners  as  Dominic 
Sampson,  and  to  some  of  us  it  seemed  that  Scott  must  have 
been  gifted  with  second  sight,  and  drawn  "  little  Harry's" 
tutor  after  the  pattern  of  our  Puritan.  I  shall  never  forget 
when  he  was  called  on,  and  stood  up  within  the  semicircle 
— an  awful  halo— of  clergymen  around  him.  He  said  that, 


Recollections  of  Childhood.  63 

during  a  ride  with  Mr.  S two  or  three  years  before,  that 

gentleman  had  told  him  that  "  Dr.  W and  lady"  were 

guilty  of  gross  drinking — that  they  consumed  such  an 
amount  of  rum  (specifying  it)  in  a  month — that  the  doctor 
set  a  mug  of  rum  by  his  bedside  at  night,  and  rose  repeat 
edly  to  drink  it — etc.,  etc.,  etc.  And  all  this  while  Mr. 
Kinne  was  living  in  the  family. 

"  Did  you  believe  this,  sir?"  asked  one  of  the  council. 

The  old  man  shook  his  faded  yellowish  wig,  smiled  with 
a  most  comical  mixture  of  contempt,  triumph,  and  simplic 
ity,  and  replied,"  Not — one — word — of — it — sir  !" 

A  low  murmur  of  shame  and  disappointment  ran  over  the 
assembly,  while  a  sort  Qtfeu  de  joic  broke  from  the  few  de 
voted  friends  and  allies  of  the  good  old  man.  Mean,  vul 
gar,  cruel  as  the  persecution  was,  it  never  touched  within 
the  holy  circle  of  the  doctor's  charities,  never  invaded  his 
peace,  nor  clouded  his  serenity.  He  even,  through  the  whole 

of  S 's  crawling  through  his  slimy  way, "hoped  that  now 

Mr.  S meant  to  do  better,"  and  not  one  bitter  word  or 

shadow  of  resentment  escaped  him,  so  that  after  sixty  years 
of  utterly  useless  polemical  preaching,  he  closed  his  career 
with  "  practical  observations"  on  love,  charity,  forgiveness, 
and  self-negation,  that  sunk  deep  into  some  of  our  hearts. 

I  remember  one  anecdote  rather  illustrative  of  his  preach 
ing.  He  held  the  Hopkinsian  doctrine  that  Christ  died  to 
manifest  God's  wrath  against  sin,  repudiating  the  strictly 
Calvinistic  creed  of  Christ's  vicarious  atonement.  Upon 
one  occasion,  Dr.  Mason,  of  New  York,  who  then  was  the 
most  conspicuous  pulpit  orator  in  the  country — a  man  con 
fident  in  his  faith,  and  bold  to  audacity — preached  for  Dr. 

W .  Mason  was  a  tall,  burly,  fair  man,  in  the  heart  and 

vigor  of  lifff  I  can  not  forget  the  figures  of  the  two  men, 
as  they  stood  together,  for  our  pastor  was  perfect  in  the  cer 
emonials  of  courtesy,  which  he  would  not  violate  by  sitting 


64  JLjfe  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

down  in  his  own  pulpit.  Dr.  Mason  thundered  away  in  a 
sermon  of  an  hour  and  a  half  upon  the  doctrine  of  substitu 
tion,  every  eye  fixed  on  him  in  the  deepest  attention.  The 
next  day  the  "  little  doctor"  (so  my  father  always  styled  him) 
came  as  usual,  and,  in  talking  over  the  sermon,  said,  "  The 
people  did  not  understand  one  word  that  he  said  ;"  and 
then  added  with  a  sigh,  and  oh  I  with  what  mournful  truth, 
"and  I  am  afraid  they  have  never  understood  me  either." 

One  of  the  periods  most  marked  in  my  childhood,  and 
best  remembered,  because  it  was  out  of  the  general  current 
of  my  life,  was  a  summer  when  I  was  seven  or  eight  years 
old,  passed  under  the  care  of  my  cousin  Sabrina  Parsons,  in 
Bennington,  Vermont,  at  the  house  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Swift, 
the  husband  of  my  father's  eldest  sister.  There  were  a 
dozen  children,  more  or  less,  some  grown,  some  still  young 
— the  kindest  and  cheerfulest  people  in  the  world.  I  was 
an  object  of  general  affection  and  indulgence.  I  remember 
distinctly,  and  I  see  it  now  with  my  mind's  eye,  a  cherry- 
tree  of  fantastic  shape  that  my  cousin  Persis,  my  contempo 
rary,  and  I  were  in  the  habit  of  running  up  like  kittens,  to 
the  dismay  of  my  tender,  sickly  aunt,  who  Id  invariably 
raise  her  bedroom  window  and  call  out,"  G  ,  come  down  I 
you'll  break  your  necks  1"  I  am  now  the  i  crone,  and, 
alas !  I  now  should  probably  mar  the  spon  idle,  fearless 
girls  in  the  same  way.  No,  dear  Alice,  i  ion't  honestly 
think  I  should.  I  should  be  more  like  to  try  to  climb  the 
cherry-tree  with  them. 

When  I  lived  at  my  uncle's  was  the  period  of  the  most 
bitter  hostility  between  the  Federalists  and  Democrats.  The 
'whole  nation,  from  Maine  to  Georgia,  was  then  divided  into 
these  two  great  parties.  The  Federalists  stood  Bright,  and 
with  their  feet  firmly  planted  on  the  rock  of  aristocracy,  but 
that  rock  itself  was  bedded  in  sands,  or  rather  was  a  boulder 


Recollections  of  Childhood.  65 

from  the  Old  World,  and  the  tide  of  democracy  was  surely 
and  swiftly  undermining  it.  The  Federalists  believed  that 
nil  sound  principles,  truth,  justice,  and  patriotism,  were  iden 
tified  with  the  upper  classes.  They  were  sincere  Republi 
cans,  but  I  think  they  began  to  fear  a  republic  could  only 
continue  to  exist  in  Utopia.  They  were  honest  and  noble 
men.  The  Democrats  had  among  them  much  native  sa 
gacity  ;  they  believed  in  themselves,  some  from  conceit, 
some  from  just  conviction  ;  they  had  less  education,  intel 
lectual  and  moral,  than  their  opponents — little  refinement, 
intense  desire  to  grasp  the  power  and  place  that  had  been 
denied  to  them,  and  a  determination  to  work  out  the  theo 
ries  of  the  government.  All  this,  my  dear  Alice,  as  you  may 
suppose,  is  an  after-thought  with  me.  Then  I  entered  fully, 
and  with  the  faith  and  ignorance  of  childhood,  into  the  prej 
udices  of  the  time.  I  thought  every  Democrat  was  grasp 
ing,  dishonest,  and  vulgar,  and  would  have  in  good  faith 
adopted  the  creed  of  a  stanch  old  parson,  who,  in  a  Fast-day 
sermon,  said,  "  I  don't  sny  that  every  Democrat  is  a  horse- 
thief,  but  I  do  say  that  every  horse-thief  is  a  Democrat  1" 

While  I  was  at  Bennington,  I  know  not  to  commemorate 
what  occasion,  small  gold  eagles  were  struck,  and  presented 
to  the  ladies  of  conspicuous  Federal  families.  My  grown 
up  cousins  had  them.  They  were  sewn  into  the  centre  of 
large  bows  they  wore  on  their  bonnets.  I  remember  well 
pining  in  my  secret  soul  that  one  was  not  given  to  me,  and 
thinking  that  my  father's  position  entitled  me,  though  a  child, 
to  the  distinction.  One  memorable  Sunday,  while  my  uncle 
was  making  the  "  long  prayer,"  and  I  was  standing  on  the 
bench  in  the  clergyman's  great  square  pew,  my  cousin  Sally's 
bow  got  awry  ;  the  eagle  "  stooped"  under  its  folds  ;  and  I, 
to  save  her  from  the  ignominy  of  not  showing  her  colors, 
walked  around  three  sides  of  the  pew,  and  disturbed  not 
only  my  pious  cousin's  devotions,  but  many  others',  by  the 


. 

66  Life  of  Cat/tarirte  M.  Sedgwick* 

pother  I  made  in  rectifying  the  bow.  I  remember  my  good 
uncle,  on  being  told  of  the  exploit,  instead  of  reproving  me 
for  my  misdemeanor,  heartily  joined  in  the  laugh. 

After  all,  I  believe  there  was  a  deal  of  good  humor  and 
village  fun  mingled  in  with  the  animosities.  The  village 
street,  according  to  my  recollection,  extended  a  long  way, 
some  mile  and  a  half,  from  a  hill  at  one  end  to  a  plain  at 
the  other.  There  was  a  superannuated,  parti-colored  horse, 
that  had  been  turned  out  to  find  his  own  living  by  wayside 
grazing,  with  now  and  then  a  chance  handful  of  oats  from 
charity,  who  was  used  as  a  walking  advertiser.  He  came 
regularly  from  the  hill,  the  Democratic  quarter,  placarded 
over  with  jibes  and  jokes  on  the  Federalists  of  the  plain, 
and  returned  with  such  missives  as  their  wit  could  furnish. 

My  pleasant  sojourn  there  was  concluded  by  a  bilious  fe 
ver,  through  which  I  was  tenderly  attended  by  one  of  my 
cousins,  a  young  physician.  I  suffered  in  my  convalescence 
from  the  pangs  of  hunger,  and  one  Sunday  morning,  having 
been  left  alone,  and  supposing  all  the  family  to  be  at  church, 
I  crept  (I  could  not  even  stand  alone)  out  of  my  bed,  and 
down  stairs  to  the  buttery ;  but,  on  opening  its  door,  there 
were  two  of  my  cousins  regaling  themselves  with  a  lunch  of 
cold  chicken  1  I  burst  into  tears  at  my  discomfiture.  They 
gave  me  a  chicken-bone,  and  carried  me  back  to  my  bed. 
The  intense  delight  with  which  I  gnawed  that  bone  to  its 
last  fibre  might  enlighten  the  medical  faculty. 

I  remember,  while  at  Bennington,  receiving  from  my  fa 
ther  a  morocco  thread-case  and  pocket-book,  with  a  silver 
crown  in  it,  and  how  enchanted  I  was.  My  father,  generous 
without  limit  to  his  children,  never  would  associate  his  com 
ings  home  with  gifts — he  would  have  no  craving  but  that  of 
the  affections.  On  one  occasion,  when  I  was  a  lisping  child, 
some  one  asked  me  what  papa  brought  me  from  Philadel 
phia.  "  Nothing,"  I  replied,  "  but  he  called  me  his  dear  lit- 


Recollections  of  Childhood,  67 

tie  lamb,  and  his  sweet  little  bird."     This  charmed  my  fa 
ther,  and  confirmed  his  theory. 

My  dear  Alice,  would  you  like  to  know  what  were  the 
books  of  my  childhood  ?  You,  of  the  present  time,  for  whom 
the  press  daily  turns  out  its  novelties,  for  whom  Miss  Edge- 
worth  has  written  her  charming  stories,  and  Scott  has  sim 
plified  history,  will  look  upon  my  condition  as  absolute  in 
anition. 

The  books  that  I  remember  (there  were,  perhaps,  besides, 
a  dozen  little  story-books)  are  Berquin's  "Children's  Friend,'1 
translated  from  the  French,  I  think,  in  four  volumes — I  know 
I  can  remember  the  form  and  shade  of  color  of  the  book, 
the  green  edges  of  the  leaves,  the  look  of  my  favorite  pages. 
Then  there  was  the  "  Looking-glass,"  an  eclectic,  which  con 
tained  that  most  pathetic  story  of  "  Little  Jack."  Then 
there  was  a  little  thin  book  called  "  Economy  of  Human 
Life,"  made  up  of  some  small  pieces  of  Mrs.  Barbauld's. 
That  was  quite  above  my  comprehension,  and  I  thought  it 
very  unmeaning  and  tedious.  There  was  a  volume  of 
Rowe's  "  Letters  from  the  Dead  to  the  Living,"  which  had 
a  strange  charm  for  me.  I  do  not  think  that  I  believed  them 
to  have  been  actually  written  by  the  departed,  but  there  was 
a  little  mystification  about  it  that  excited  my  imagination. 
And  last  and  most  delightful  were  the  fables,  tales,  and  bal 
lads  in  a  large  volume  of  "  Elegant  Extracts."  I  have  some 
times  questioned  whether  the  keen  relish  which  this  scarcity 
of  juvenile  reading  kept  up,  and  the  sound  digestion  it  pro 
moted,  did  not  overbalance  your  advantage  in  the  abund 
ance  and  variety  that  certainly  extinguishes  some  minds, 
and  debilitates  others  with  over-excitement. 

All  books  but  such  as  had  an  infusion  of  religion  were 
proscribed  on  Sunday,  and  of  course  the  literature  for  that 
day  was  rather  circumscribed.  We  were  happily  exempted 


68  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

from  such  confections  as  Mrs.  Sherwood's — sweetened  slops 
and  water-gruels  that  impair  the  mental  digestion.  We 
lived  as  people  in  a  new  country  live — on  bread  and  meat 
— the  Bible  and  good  old  sermons,  reading  these  over  and 
over  again.  I  remember,  when  very  young,  a  device  by 
which  I  extended  my  Sunday  horizon ;  I  would  turn  over 
the  leaves  of  a  book,  and  if  I  found  "  God"  or  "  Lord,"  no 
matter  in  what  connection,  I  considered  the  book  sanctified 
— the  taboo  removed  1 

Both  my  sisters  were  very  religious.  They  were  educated 
when  the  demonstration  of  religion  and  its  offices  made 
much  more  a  part  of  life  than  now — when  almost  all  of 
women's  intellectual  life  took  that  tinge.  They  were  both 
born  with  tendencies  to  the  elevated  and  unseen  ;  their  re 
ligion  was  their  pursuit,  their  daily  responsibility,  their  aim, 
and  end,  and  crowning  affection. 

They  both  began  with  the  strict  faith.  Sister  Eliza  suf 
fered  from  the  horrors  of  Calvinism.  She  was  so  true,  so 
practical,  that  she  could  not  evade  its  realities  ;  she  believed 
its  monstrous  doctrines,  and  they  made  her  gloomy  j  but  for 
the  last  fifteen  years  of  her  life  she  was  redeemed  from  this 
incubus  ;  her  faith  softened  into  a  true  comprehension  of 
the  filial  relation  to  God,  and  I  have  often  heard  her  say 
that  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  describe  the  happiness  of 
her  redemption  from  the  cruel  doctrines  of  Geneva. 

Sister  Frances's  imagination  saved  her  from  a  like  suffer 
ing.  However  deep  the  slough  into  which  she  was  cast,  she 
would  spread  her  wings  and  rise  up  into  a  pure  atmosphere, 
bright  with  God's  presence.  She  was  one  of  those  who  be 
lieve  without  believing  ;  her  faith  was  governed  by  her 
moods  ;  when  she  was  bilious  and  unhappy — very  rarely — - 
she  sank  down  again  into  the  slough. 

Thank  God,  their  sweet  spirits  are  now  both  expatiating 
in  truth  which  is  light ! 


Recollections  of  CfiiMhood.  69 

My  sisters  were  both  married  when  I  was  still  a  child.  I 
was  but  seven  when  my  sister  Eliza  was  married,  and  I  re 
member  that  wedding  evening  as  the  first  tragedy  of  my  life. 
She  was  my  mother-sister.  I  had  always  slept  with  her,  and 
been  her  assigned  charge.  The  wedding  was  in  our  "  west 
room."  I  remember  where  the  bride  and  groom  stood,  and 
how  he  looked  to  me  like  some  cruel  usurper.  I  remember 
my  father's  place,  and  the  rest  is  a  confused  impression  of 
a  room  full  of  friends  and  servants — I  think  Mumbet  stood 
by  me.  When  the  long  consecrating  prayer  was  half  through, 
I  distinctly  remember  the  consciousness  that  my  sister  was 
going  away  from  me  struck  me  with  the  force  of  a  blow,  and 
I  burst  into  loud  sobs  and  crying.  After  the  service,  my 
father  took  me  in  his  arms,  and  tried  to  quiet  and  soothe 
me,  but  I  could  be  neither  comforted  nor  quieted,  so  I  stole 
out  into  the  "east  room,"  where  Mumbet,  Grippy,  all  the 
servants  did  their  best  to  suggest  consolations.  Then  came 
my  new  brother-in-law — how  well  I  remember  recoiling  from 
him  and  hating  him  when  he  said,  "  I'll  let  your  sister  stay 
with  you  this  summer/1  He  let  her  1  I  was  undressed  and 
put  into  bed,  and  I  cried  myself  to  sleep  and  waked  crying 
the  next  morning,  and  so,  from  that  time  to  this,  weddings 
in  my  family  have  been  to  me  days  of  sadness,  and  yet,  by 
some  of  them,  I  have  gained  treasures  that  no  earthly  bal 
ance  or  calculation  can  weigh  or  estimate  ! 

One  of  the  finest  passages  in  Fanny  Kemble's  "  English 
Tragedy"  was,  as  she  told  me,  suggested  by  this  passage  be 
tween  me  and  Dr.  Pomeroy,  which  I  had  related  to  her. 

Oh  dear  sister !  what  a  life  of  toil,  of  patient  endurance, 
of  sweet  hopes,  heavenly  affections,  keen  disappointments, 
harsh  trials,  acute  sorrows,  and  acute  joys  then  opened  upon 
you  !  What  a  life  of  truth,  fidelity,  faith,  labor,  and  love  you 
lived  1  And  just  when  you  seemed  to  have  come-  to  a  station 
of  rest — when  the  children  to  whom  you  had  so  long  been 


yo  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick, 

the  mother-minister  began  to  minister  to  you,  you  were 
stricken  clown  !  God's  will  be  done  I  You  have  been  saved 
many,  many  sorrows,  and,  I  trust,  see  the  purpose,  unknown 
to  us,  of  many  afflictions  that  have  since  fallen  on  your 
house  i 

Through  my  sister  Eliza's  life,  the  tenderest  union,  the 
most  unwavering  confidence  subsisted  between  us.  A  few 
days  since,  I  saw  a  letter  from  her  in  which  she  calls  me 
her  "  sister — mother — child — friend." 

I  have  said  nothing  of  the  personal  appearance  of  my  sis 
ters.  Eliza  was  short,  in  her  girlhood  perfectly  symmetrical 
in  her  form,  with  pretty  arms,  and  little  hands  and  feet — 
very  dark,  with  pretty,  dark  eyes  and  hair,  and  a  very  gen- 
lie,  modest,  retiring  manner,  but  with  great  decision  in  her 
affections  and  opinions.  She  and  Frances  were  as  unlike 
in  appearance  as  in  character.  Frances  was  above  the  com 
mon  stature,  with  a  fair  skin,  and  blooming  cheeks,  that  con 
tinued  blooming  all  her  life  ;  hazel  eyes — one  of  them  parti 
colored — beautiful  bright  chastnut  hair,  a  Roman  nose,  and 
a  very  handsome  mouth.  She  was  a  great  reader  in  her 
youth  of  poetry  and  romances.  Eliza  was  occupied  with 
household  duties,  first  in  her  father's  house,  and  then  in  her 
own ;  first  nursing  her  mother,  and  supplying  a  mother's 
place  to  the  children,  and  in  her  married  life  having  twelve 
children  of  her  own  to  care  for.  Frances  was  excitable,  ir 
ritable,  enthusiastic,  imaginative  ;  Eliza  calm,  patient,  quiet, 
reserved,  and  sternly,  scrupulously  true.  Frances  was  sym 
pathetic  and  diffusive  beyond  any  one  I  have  ever  known  ; 
Eliza's  affections  were  within  the  range  of  her  duties,  and 
strictly  governed  by  them.  No  sphere  could  bound  or  con 
tain  Frances's  interests  or  affections  ;  Eliza  was  the  steady 
light  of  her  home  j  dear  sister  Frances  shone  widely  and  ir 
regularly,  but,  if  ever  a  soul  was  kindled  with  holy  fires,  hers 


of  Childhood*  7  \ 

was.  She  loved  her  friends  with  the  faith  and  enthusiasm 
of  devotees — but  she  sometimes  changed  her  faith. 

Her  marriage  was  not  a  congenial  one.  She  endured 
much  and  heroically,  and  through  her  sweet  benevolence 
and  wide  sympathies  she  enjoyed  a  great  deal,  though,  to  a 
superficial  eye,  her  life  seemed  an  utter  failure.  Never  was 
any  portion  of  it  so  complete  a  barren  but  she  could  find 
some  flower  to  cherish,  some  fruit  for  refreshment.  She 
never  took  a  day's  drive  in  a  stage-coach,  or  a  night's  sail 
on  a  steamer,  but  she  found  some  wayfarer  to  whom  she  lis 
tened  with  faith,  whom  she  remembered  with  interest.  She 
loved  my  father  with  a  passionate  filial  devotion,  and  all 
her  family  with  enthusiastic  affection. 

A  permanent  member  of  our  household,  who  might  have 
had  some  influence  in  the  formation  of  our  characters,  was 

a  cousin  of  my  mother,  Mr.W ;  his  familiar  sobriquet, 

by  which  he  was  known  to  all  the  children  of  the  village  as 
well  as  to  our  household,  was  "  Uncle  Bob." 

He  was  my  father's  partner  in  business  for  more  than 
twenty  years,  and  was  esteemed  a  sound  lawyer — a  man,  I 
believe,  of  more  acuteness  than  enlargement,  of  remark 
able  memory,  and  of  incorruptible  integrity.  Something 
of  a  Monkbarns  in  his  scoffings  at  womankind,  he  covered, 
under  a  privileged  ridicule  of  the  sex,  a  real  liking  for 
them.  I  have  heard  hints  of  his  strong  attachment  to  my 
sister  Eliza,  of  his  having  been  withheld  by  a  proud  fear  of 
refusal  from  declaring  it,  and  of  his  vexed  disappointment 
at  her  engagement  to  another.  He  lived  till  he  was  fifty- 
four  in  Benedict  railings  at  the  sex,  and  then — married.  His 
attachments  were  strong,  though  he  was  utterly  undemon 
strative  ;  his  prejudices  inveterate  and  proclaimed.  He 
made  no  demands  and  gave  no  trouble.  He  had  an  unlim 
ited  respect  for  my  mother,  and  regard  for  my  father.  He 


72  Lift  of  Catharine  M.  Setigwick. 

loved  the  children,  and  laughed  at  us  all.  He  was  so  unob 
trusive  of  his  society  that  he  seemed  unsocial.  He  preferred 
the  smallest  room,  into  which  no  one  ever  intruded,  and  a 
corner  seat  at  table,  where  he  had  elbow-room  without  an 
noying  or  being  annoyed.  He  was  abstemious  in  eating 
and  drinking,  played  an  excellent  hand  at  whist,  and  piquet 
and  backgammon  better  than  any  body  else,  but  he  never 
could  be  slidden  in  to  make  up  a  wanted  party  to  a  game. 
He  was  not  one  of  those  convenient  single  people  who  are 
used  as  we  use  straw  and  cotton  in  packing — to  fill  up  va 
cant  places.  His  claims  were  always  attended  to  and  his 
rights  respected.  Profanity  was  the  habit  of  the  times,  and 
he  carried  it  to  the  most  extravagant  lengths  \  his  taste  was 
corrupted  by  the  coarse  and  gross  modes  of  Swift,  and  Smol 
lett,  and  Sterne ;  the  stream  of  a  sensual  literature  had  not 
yet  run  far  enough  to  deposit  its  filth  ;  still  his  life  was  hon 
est  and  pure ;  the  world  would  not  have  bribed  him  to  take 
God's  name  in  vain  in  the  sense  of  the  Decalogue,  and  his 
manners  were  so  disinfected  by  the  admonitions  of  my 
mother  and  the  example  of  my  father,  that  my  brothers, 
though  they  held  constant  vivacious  intercourse  with  him, 
never  caught  his  bad  habits  of  speech. 

He  had  jocular  characteristic  salutations  for  us  all.  How 
often  have  I  heard  him  say  to  Robert, 

44  Master  Bobby's  married. 

Pray  what  says  St.  Paul  ? 
If  I'm  not  mistaken, 
•  Marry  not  at  all  J1 " 

And  I  was  "  Kate  the  curst,"  or  "  Kate  of  my  consola 
tion,"  etc.,  etc.,  as  his  humor  was. 

The  family  modes  of  hospitality  have  something  to  do 
with  the  formation  of  character.  That  open-hearted,  open- 
doored  hospitality  which  has  characterized  the  disposition 


Recollections  of  Childhood,  73 

of  every  member  of  our  family  was  imbibed  in  our  child 
hood. 

My  father's  public  station  and  frequent  residences  in 
town  gave  him  a  very  extensive  acquaintance,  and  his  affec 
tionate  temper  warmed  acquaintance  into  friendship.  There 
were  then  no  steamers,  no  railroads,  and  a  stage-coach 
through  our  valley  but  once  a  week.  Gentlemen  made  their 
journeys  in  their  private  carriages,  and,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
put  up  at  their  friends1  houses.  My  father's  house  was  a 
general  d&jp6ty  and  when  I  remember  how  often  the  great 
gate  swung  open  for  the  entrance  of  traveling  vehicles,  the 
old  mansion  seems  to  me  to  have  resembled  much  more  an 
hostelrie  of  the  olden  time  than  the  quiet  house  it  now  is. 
My  father's  hospitality  was  unbounded.  It  extended  from 
ihe  gentleman  in  his  coach,  chaise,  or  on  horseback,  accord 
ing  to  his  means  and  necessities,  to  the  poor  lame  beggar 
that  would  sit  half  the  night  roasting  at  the  kitchen  fire* 
with  the  negro  servants.  It  embraced  within  its  wide  girth 
a  multitude  of  relations.  My  father  was  in  some  sort  the 
chieftain  of  his  family,  and  his  home  was  their  resort  and 
resting-place.  Uncles  and  aunts  always  found  a  welcome 
there  ;  cousins  summered  and  wintered  with  us.  Thus  hos 
pitality  was  an  element  in  our  education.  It  elicited  our 
faculties  of  doing  and  suffering.  It  smothered  the  love  and 
habit  of  minor  comforts  and  petty  physical  indulgences  that 

*  Oh  lhat  blazing  fire  J  There  may  be  such  in  Western  homes,  but 
they  will  never  again  be  seen  on  this  side  the  AHeghanies.  As  the  short 
winter  day  closed  in,  a  chain  was  attached  to  a  log,  and  that  drawn  by  a 
horse  to  the  door-step,  and  then  rolled  into  the  fireplace,  shaking  the 
house  at  every  turn.  Then  came  the  magnificent "  fore-stick,"  then  piles 
on  piles  of  wood — and  round  the  crackling  fire  what  images  appear  I 
Mumbet,  queen  of  the  domain  ;  Grippy,  how  loved  in  those  days;  Sam 
son,  the  runaway  slave,  a  faithful  servant  of  many  years ;  Lady  Prime, 
Betty,  "little  Bet,"  rather  impish,  and  old  "Tip-Top,"  the  Gaberluiuie, 
the  jest  and  the  terror  of  my  childhood  1 

D 


74  Life  of  Catharine  JW.  Sedgwick. 

belong  to  a  higher  state  of  civilization  and  generate  selfish 
ness,  and  it  made  regard  for  others,  and  small  sacrifices  to 
them,  a  habit.  Hospitality  was  not  formally  inculcated  as 
a  virtue,  but  it  was  an  inevitable  circumstance — a  part  of 
our  social  condition.  The  table  was  as  cheerfully  spread 
for  others  as  for  ourselves.  We  never  heard  that  hospital 
ity  was  a  duty>  nor  did  we  ever  see  it  extended  grudgingly 
or  with  stinted  measure  to  any  guest  of  any  condition.  This 
gathering  into  our  ark  of  divers  kinds  of  human  creatures 
had  a  tendency  to  enlarge  our  horizon,  and  to  save  us  from 
the  rusticity,  the  ignorance  of  the  world,  and  the  prejudice 
incident  to  an  isolated  country  residence.  The  evils  of  this 
state  of  things  were  the  increased  burden  to  my  mother,  al 
ready  overladen  with  care,  and  latterly  the  complete  fritter 
ing  of  my  time,  for  in  our  last  years  at  /tome  our  old  family 
servants  were  dispersed — it  was  the  transition  period  be 
tween  black  servants  and  Irish — and  the  imperfect  domestic 
service  had  to  be  made  out  by  the  members  of  the  family. 

It  was  during  the  winter  in  New  York  I  have  already 
mentioned  that  I  first  went  to  the  theatre,  an  epoch  in  a 
child's  life.  It  was  in  the  time  of  the  Hodgkinsons,  charm 
ing  performers,  and  in  the  beginning  of  Cooper's  career. 
He  was  the  first  of  second-rate  tragedians.  My  first  play 
was  Macbeth.  Hodgkin son  played  Macbeth,  Cooper  Mac- 
duff.  When  they  came  to  the  final  fight,  I  entreated  my 
brother  to  take  me  out  of  the  house.  He  laughed  at  me.  I 
said, "  I  know  it  is  not  real,  but  they  are  really  enraged  1" 
How  much  delight  I  had  from  the  few  plays  I  saw  that  win 
ter  I  What  an  exquisite  portion  of  the  pleasures  of  imagina 
tion  come,  or  have  come,  to  the  young  through  the  drama  I 
To  this  day,  the  drying  at  the  fire  of  a  wet  newspaper  re 
calls  the  eagerness  with  which  I  dried  the  daily  paper  to 
read  the  play-bill,  and  truly  it  is  now  a  sweet  odor  to  me  ! 


Recollections  of  Childhood.  75 

I  did  not  at  that  period  form  any  girlish  friendships,  or 
any  acquaintance  out  of  my  dancing-school.  There  was  an 
old  lacJy  who  lived  opposite  to  my  sister  whom  I  was  very 
fond  of  visiting,  and  to  this  day  I  recall  her  kindly  aspect, 
her  florid  complexion,  her  pots  of  beautiful  artemisias,  and 
her  pleasant  tales  about  the  Revolution,  in  which  I  believe 
her  husband  had  played  a  conspicuous  part  as  commissary. 
How  well  I  remember  those  flowers  1  Flowers  I  have  al 
ways  loved  next  to  dear  living  creatures,  and  I  can  recall 
the  look  antf  odor  of  the  particular  friends  of  my  early  child 
hood,  the  damask  and  cinnamon  roses  under  our  front  win 
dows  and  in  the  garden,  the  large  plant  of  old-fashioned, 
honest  peonies  that  stood  near  the  little  garden,  the  blue 
bells,  and,  above  all,  the  pinks,  my  mother's  favorite,  and  till 
now  the  memorial  I  wear  through  all  the  summer  months 
for  her. 

I  remember  little  of  that  winter,  but  I  went  once  to  a 
large  family  dinner  at  Jacob  Morton's  with  my  brother  The 
odore.  Our  host  asked  me,  the  only  stranger  guest,  which 
part  of  a  huge  turkey,  in  which  he  had  put  his  carving-fork, 
I  would  take.  I  knew  only  one  point  of  manners  for  such 
occasions,  dear  Alice — that  I  must  specify  some  part,  and, 
as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  the  side-bone  came  first  into  my 
head,  and  "  Side-bone,  sir,"  I  said.  Oh,  what  a  lecture  I 
got  when  we  went  home  1  the  wretched  "  little  chit  that 
compelled  a  gentleman  to  cut  up  a  whole  turkey  to  serve 
her  1"  I  cried  myself  to  sleep  that  night.  My  brother,  then 
a  student  at  law  in  Mr.  Riggs's  office,  was  very  ambitious 
that  his  sister  should  be  an  adept  in  the  polite  arts.  From 
that  time  till  I  was  sixteen  or  seventeen  I  had  an  inexpressi 
ble  dread  of  his  observation  and  criticism.  My  manners 
were  frank,  confiding,  and  artless,  but  not  conventional — 
and  neither  my  brother  nor  my  long  social  life  has  taught 
me  to  be  so. 


76  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

Afril  24///,  1860. — I  go  on,  dear  Alice,  with  my  narrative. 
I  was  thirteen  years  old  when  I  went  to  Albany.  My 
brother  Theodore  had  just  opened  an  office  there,  and  form 
ed  his  partnership  with  Harmanus  BJeecker,  a  gentleman  of 
the  pure  old  Holland  stock — a  gentleman  in  his  education, 
association,  and  tastes.  He  had  a  ruling  taste  for  mental 
pursuits,  and  was  loyal  to  them  all  his  life.  He  was  silent 
and  laconic,  but  delighted  in  a  social  atmosphere.  He  was 
all  his  life  compared  to  such  old  Romans  as  have  illustrated 
the  sterner  virtues. 

The  circumstance  most  exciting  to  me  in  this  part  of  my 
life  was  my  father's  coming  to  Albany  and  taking  me  to 
Canandaigua,  then  a  weekly  journey,  now  scarcely  eight 
hours  1  But  oh,  the  pleasant  vicissitudes  of  that  long  travel 
— the  disastrous  chances  of  bad  taverns,  and  the  felicity  of 
good  ones — the  unexpected  meeting  with  old  friends  and 
the  making  new  ones,  and  the  delightful  novelty  of  the  ev 
ery  day  of  a  first  journey  I  We  traveled  in  a  charming  easy 
carriage  (probably  English-built),  a  phaeton  which  my  father 
had  already  possessed  many  years.  It  was  so  high  that,  as 
I  recall  it,  it  seems  as  if,  like  Homer's  divinities,  we  had 
made  a  halt  in  mid-air.  We  had  excellent  horses,  and  a 
house-servant,  Cato.  (Poor  fellow  1  he  ended  his  life  in  our 
state's  prison.)  We  were  the  first  half  day  toiling  through 
the  sands  between  Albany  and  Schenectady.  There  an  old 
gentleman,  Glen,  my  father's  comrade  in  Congress,  came  to 
the  inn  and  dined  with  us,  and  my  father  and  he  sat  over 
their  cigars  and  wine  till  the  heat  of  the  summer's  day  sub 
sided,  when  we  mounted  into  our  phaeton  and  proceeded 
to  a  little  Dutch  inn  on  the  Mohawk,  a  few  miles1  drive.  I 
think  it  is  not  common  for  young  persons  at  thirteen  to  re 
ceive  positive  happiness  and  ineffaceable  impressions  from 
Nature,  but  pictures  were  then  daguerreotyped  upon  my 
memory  that  have  never  faded.  Our  first  evening,  sitting 


Recollections  of  Childhood.  77 

out  on  the  back  "  stoop"  of  our  inn,  overlooking  a  meadow 
sloping  down  to  the  Mohawk — a  new  moon,  and  the  leaves 
just  quivering  in  its  light — hundreds  of  fire-flies  glancing 
through  the  air  and  sparkling  in  the  grass — the  firmament 
clear  and  bright  with  stars,  and  my  dear  father  sitting  by 
me  with  his  cigar,  in  a  serene  obliviousness  of  all  mortal 
ill,  and  an  effusion  of  affection  that  was  his  "magnetism" — 
this  may  be  the  heavenly  state  before  we  make  acquaintance 
with  the  faculties  and  conditions  of  a  more  expanded  life. 

In  my  fifteenth  year  I  was  sent  to  Mr.  Payne's  boarding- 
school  in  Boston,  and  was  there  for  six  months.  I  was  at 
the  most  susceptible  age.  My  father's  numerous  friends  in 
Boston  opened  their  doors  to  me.  I  was  attractive  in  my 
appearance,  and,  from  always  associating  on  equal  terms 
with  those  much  older  than  myself,  I  had  a  mental  maturity 
rather  striking,  and  with  an  ignorance  of  the  world,  a  ro 
mantic  enthusiasm,  an  aptitude  at  admiring  and  loving  that 
altogether  made  me  an  object  of  general  interest.  I  was  ad 
mired  and  flattered.  Harry  and  Robert  were  then  resident 
graduates  at  Cambridge.  They  were  too  inexperienced  to 
perceive  the  mistake  I  was  making ;  they  were  naturally 
pleased  with  the  attentions  I  was  receiving.  The  winter 
passed  away  in  a  series  of  bewildering  gayeties.  I  had  tal 
ent  enough  to  be  liked  by  my  teachers,  and  good  nature  to 
secure  their  good  will.  I  gave  them  very  little  trouble  in 
any  way. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  T ,  old  friends  of  both  our  parents, 

made  their  house  our  home.  Entire  indulgence  and  open- 
door  hospitality  were  the  law  and  habit  of  their  house. 
They  had  five  daughters  growing  up  in  savage  ignorance. 
There  I  met  my  brothers,  and  there  we  were  all  petted  and 
flattered.  *****  When  1  came  home  from  Boston  I  felt 
the  deepest  mortification  at  my  waste  of  time  and  money, 


78  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwitk. 

though  my  father  never  said  one  word  to  me  on  the  subject 
For  the  only  time  in  my  life  I  rose  early  to  read  French, 
and  in  a  few  weeks  learned  by  myself  more  than  I  had  ac 
quired  all  winter.  But,  alas  I  what  irretrievable  opportuni 
ties  gone  I 


Here  all  direct  narrative  ceases,  although  fragments  be 
longing  to  the  same  general  plan  of  Recollections,  and  ad 
dressed  to  the  same  person,  will  occasionally  be  met  with  in 
a  later  part  of  this  memoir. 

A  few  childish  letters  have  been  preserved,  which  may  be 
presented  here,  as  showing  a  characteristic  warmth  of  feel 
ing,  and  freedom,  as  well  as  carefulness  in  expression.  The 
first  is  written  at  the  age  of  ten. 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  far  Father. 

••  Stockbridge,  Jan,  12,  1800. 

"  MY  DEAR  PAPA, — Last  week  I  received  a  letter  from 
you  which  gave  me  inexpressible  pleasure.  You  said  you 
supposed  that  I  had  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  sister  Eliza's 
and  the  children's  company,  but  I  had  not  when  I  received 
your  letter ;  it  was  such  very  poor  sleighing  we  did  not  ex 
pect  them  ;  but,  my  dear  papa,  can  you  conceive  of  the 
pleasure  we  felt  when  hearing  a  sleigh  drive  up,  and,  going 
out,  we  perceived  that  sister  Eliza  and  her  dear  children 
were  in  it  ?  We  were  almost  too  happy.  Theodore  had  ar 
rived  two  or  three  days  before,  Mr.  Watson  that  afternoon. 
Judge  of  our  pleasure.  I  thought  if  you,  Henry,  and  Rob 
ert  were  here,  and  mamma  was  well,  our  happiness  would  be 
complete.  You  said  that  we  should  derive  more  pleasure 
from  their  company  in  two  hours  than  you  would  this  whole 
winter.  My  dear  papa,  I  can  easily  believe  you.  I  should 


Eife  and  jLctters.  79 

be  willing  to  impart  to  you  my  happiness  on  this  occasion, 
but  it  is  impossible.  I  see — indeed  I  think  I  see  in  Mr.  Wat 
son  every  thing  that  is  amiable.  I  am  very  much  pleased 
with  him  ;  indeed  we  are  all  of  us.  Mamma  sends  her  love 
to  you.  She  sleeps  better  than  ever  she  did,  I  think.  The 
odore  sends  his  love  to  you.  Your  affectionate,  dutiful 
daughter,  CATHARINE  MARIA  SEDGWICK." 

The  next,  a  year  later,  illustrates  the  tenderness  of  her 
relations  with  her  father,  and  her  early  and  enthusiastic 
sympathy  with  him  in  his  public  career. 

Jlfis s  Stdgwick  to  fur  Father. 

"  Stockbridgc,  February  i,  1801. 

*  *  *  *  « You  say  in  one  of  your  last  letters  that  the 
time  will  soon  come  when  you  shall  take  leave  of  Congress 
forever.  That  day  shall  I,  in  my  own  mind,  celebrate  for 
ever  ;  yes,  as  long  as  I  live  I  shall  reflect  on  that  dear  time 
when  my  dear  papa  left  a  public  life  to  live  in  a  retired  one 
with  his  dear  wife  and  children  ;  then  you  will  have  the 
pleasure  to  think,  when  you  quit  the  door  of  the  House,  that 
you  are  going  to  join  your  family  forever ;  but,  my  dear 
papa,  I  can  not  feel  what  you  will  when  looking  back  on 
your  past  life  in  Congress.  You  will  remember  how  much 
you  have  exerted  yourself  in  order  to  save  your  country. 
What  a  blessed  reflection  that  will  be  1  ******  YOU 
say  in  old  age,  when  almost  all  our  friends  leave  us,  and  we 
have  little  more  in  this  world  to  enjoy,  our  friends  ought  to 
be  resigned  to  our  leaving  them.  Do  you  think,  my  dear 
papa,  that  I  could  leave  my  dear  parents  in  their  old  age  ? 
No  ;  I  should  be  happy  in  reflecting  that  I  could  in  a  meas 
ure  reward  them  for  all  their  kind  care  to  me  when  I  was 
young.  I  do  not  think  that  we  can  have  any  reasons  for 
leaving  our  friends  when  they  grow  old.  I  think  the  longer 


8o  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

we  live  with  them  on  earth  the  more  we  are  endeared  to 
them — at  least  any  body  who  has  ever  entertained  any  affec 
tion  for  their  parents," 

In  the  following,  the  style  of  the  girl  of  fourteen  has  be 
come  more  ambitious,  but  even  the  formality  then  fashion 
able  can  not  quite  overpower  its  native  grace. 

Miss  Settgwick  to  her  Father. 

"  Stockbridge,  April  i,  1804. 

******  \ye  are  an  looking  for  the  time,  and  anticipa 
ting  the  pleasure  which  your  arrival  will  give  us,  and  indeed 
it  is  almost  the  only  topic  we  have  for  conversation.  Stock- 
bridge  is  barren  of  incidents  to  call  forth  either  wonder,  ad 
miration,  or  disgust.  I  sincerely  believe  there  has  nothing 
happened  since  your  departure  that  has  affected  us  as  much, 
or  appeared  of  half  the  importance,  as  some  wounds  which 
old  Bose  has  received  ;  and,  though  we  feared  they  might 
prove  mortal,  he  is  apparently  in  a  state  of  convalescence  ; 
but  I  yet  have  my  doubts  whether  the  poor  animal  will  sur 
vive  to  see  his  dear  master. 

"April  2.  The  town-meeting  is  over  j  the  Jacobins  have 
carried  the  dav  ;  they  have  a  majority  of  seven  for  governor, 
ten  for  lieutenant  governor  and  senator.  Mr.  WiHiams  says 
there  were  at  least  thirty  people  there  whose  faces  he  never 
saw  before,  and  who,  he  verily  believes,  if  they  were  turned 
out  of  the  house,  and  the  doors  had  been  shut  upon  them, 
never  would  have  found  the  way  home,  for  they  were  led 
there  by  our  wise  and  great  men.  *****  But  their  most 
diabolical  act  was  endeavoring  to  lessen  Dr.  West's  salary ; 
fortunately  they  did  not  succeed.  Thus  you  see,  my  dear 
papa,  I  have  become  quite  a  politician  ;  but  I  have  written 
this  merely  for  your  information.  Yours  affectionately, 

"  C.  M.  SEDGWICK." 


Life  and  Letters.  81 

Miss  Sedgwick's  fame  was,  of  course,  a  literary  one,  but 
to  those  who  had  the  happiness  of  knowing  her,  the  charm 
and  interest  of  her  personal  character  far  outweighed  her 
merely  intellectual  gifts,  and  in  the  selections  from  her  let 
ters  and  journals,  by  which  it  is  now  attempted  to  give  a 
picture  of  her,  incomplete  indeed,  but  yet  faithful,  it  will  be 
fouiid  that  the  larger  number  have  reference  to  her  domes 
tic  life.  Moreover,  her  existence  was,  from  first  to  last,  so 
intertwined  with  that  of  a  large  and  singularly  interesting 
family,  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  present  it  as  a  single 
thread,  removed  from  the  rich  web  of  which  it  made  a  shin 
ing  part ;  and  this  must  be  the  excuse,  if  excuse  is  needed, 
for  the  introduction  of  many  passages  from  her  own  letters, 
and  fragments  of  those  addressed  to  her,  illustrating  the 
strong  and  peculiar  tie  which  united  her  to  her  brothers  and 
sisters,  and  to  their  children  and  children's  children. 

The  following  letter,  written  to  her  niece,  Mrs.  Minot,  the 
eldest  daughter  of  her  brother  Charles,  concerning  a  collec 
tion  of  his  letters  which  was  printed  for  private  circulation, 
bears  so  directly  on  this  point,  that  I  insert  it  here  as  pref 
ace  and  key  to  all  the  subsequent  family  letters.  It  is  true, 
she  is  speaking  only  of  the  interest  felt  by  his  descendants 
in  the  writings  of  an  ancestor,  but  it  has  a  much  larger  ap 
plication  in  the  great  and  blessed  brotherhood  of  humanity, 
which  she,  of  all  women,  would  have  been  the  first  to  appre 
ciate. 

Miss  Sedffwick  to  Mrs.  JK.  S.  Minot. 

"  Lenox,  June  24,  1860. 

*  *  *  *  "  Before  I  proceed  farther  I  will  answer  your  in 
quiry  about  your  father's  letters.  As  to  personality,  you 
can  judge  in  respect  to  your  own  letters  better  than  I.  But 
I  would  caution  you  against  suppressing  expressions  of  ten 
der  love  and  favor  from  motives  of  delicacy.  They,  above 

D  2 


82  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

all  others,  characterize  him,  and  will  be  of  inestimable  use 
and  value  to  your  children  and  children's  children.  Think, 
my  dear  Kate,  what  it  will  be  to  them  to  have  the  freedom 
of  the  sanctuary  of  such  a  heart  I  After  that,  I  think  every 
little  thing  involving  family  life  and  local  history  should  be 
preserved.  How  we  should  like  to  have  such  records  of 
our  parents — our  grandparents !  Now  we  live  but  in  one 
generation.  In  reading  over  your  father's  letters  to  your 
uncle  Robert,  I  am  more  than  ever  struck  with  the  heaven- 
liness  of  his  character,  the  simplicity  and  modesty  of  his 
boyhood,  the  confidingness,  self-negation,  and  humility  of 
his  youth,  the  delicacy,  disinterestedness,  and  self-denial  of 
his  eaj-ly  manhood,  and  the  wisdom,  wit,  nice  discrimination, 
dignity,  independence  of  his  manhood;  and  above  all,  di 
recting,  inspiring,  controlling  all,  his  angelic  love.  In  look 
ing  back  upon  our  family  life  from  a  position  that  is  like 
that  of  a  retrospect  from  another  life,  and  in  comparing  it 
with  any  other  that  I  have  intimately  observed,  the  love  and 
harmony,  kept  aglow  by  a  constitutional  enthusiasm,  seems 
to  me  unparalleled  ;  and  I  look  upon  my  parents,  the  source 
of  it  all,  with  an  admiration  and  gratitude  that  I  have  no 
words  to  express." 

Miss  Sedgwick  spent  the  winter  of  1805-6  in  New  York 
with  her  sister,  Mrs.  Watson,  whose  increasing  family  gave 
exceeding  pleasure  to  their  young  aunt,  and  the  children 
were  put  under  her  care  for  the  summer  of  the  next  year. 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  her  Mother. 

"  New  York,  Jan.  17,  1806. 

"To  me,  my  beloved  mother,  is  allotted  the  delightful 
task  of  informing  you  that  our  dear  Frances  has  this  morn 
ing  given  us  a  lovely  daughter.  Teach  us,  mamma,  to  be 
grateful  to  that  bountiful  Providence,  who  is  continually 


Life  and  Letters.  83 

pouring  down  upon  us  unmerited  blessings.  Mr.  Watson 
and  Frances  wish  me  to  say  every  thing  affectionate  for  them 
to  you  and  the  family,  but  you  can  better  conceive  the  feel 
ings  Frances  has  toward  the  best  parents  in  the  world,  at 
such  a  time,  than  I  can  describe  them.  Our  dear  little  boys 
are  both  well.  They  are  taught  every  day  to  drink  their 
grandpapa's  and  grandmamma's  health,  looking  at  their  pic 
tures." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mr.  Watson. 

••  Stockbridgc,  July  15,  1807. 

"  I  have  just  completed  my  daily  task  by  lulling  my  little 
Kate  to  sleep,  and  giving  my  '  good-nighty'  kiss  to  my  stur 
dy  boys,  who  are  just  now  fast  locked  in  the  arms  of  their 
hugging  friend  Morpheus.  To  an  absent  and  affectionate 
father  no  picture  of  his  children  in  any  point  of  view  can  be 
presented  that  is  not  interesting.  Whether  they  are  painted 
climbing  the  trees,  driving  their  hoops,  or  '  with  shining 
morning  face,  creeping  like  snails  unwillingly  to  school1 
(the  latter,  we  must  all  confess,  would  not  be  a  very  unfair 
representation  of  your  tardy  sons),  is  a  matter  of  indifference. 
But  to  those  who  are  blessed  in  their  dear  society,  and  con 
sequently  condemned  all  day  to  the  clattering  of  their  heels, 
and  the  more  intolerable  clattering  of  their  tongues,  their 
sleeping  are  their  pre-eminently  charming'  moments.  How 
ever,  my  dear  Mr.  Watson,  to  square  my  conduct  by  the 
golden  rule  of  *  doing  as  I  would  be  done  by/  in  justice  to 
my  dear  little  charges,  I  should  tell  you  that,  in  the  absence 
of  their  legal  protector,  they  are  the  best  children  in  the 
world,  obedient  and  quiet,  which,  by  the  way,  are  the  two 
first  virtues  I  should  inculcate.  You  charged  me  most  par 
ticularly  with  regard  to  the  boys'  attending  school \  they  ap 
parently  have  lost  their  truant  disposition,  although  I  must 
confess  they  do  not  evince  much  ardor  in  literary  pursuits. 


84  £ife  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

Catharine  does  not  yet  articulate  any  words.     I  hope  she  is 
not  to  be  denied  the  privilege  of  her  sex." 

The  following  autumn,  the  beloved  mother,  to  whom  the 
first  of  these  two  letters  was  addressed,  died,  and  the  next 
year  Judge  Sedgwick,  to  whose  genial  ancT  affectionate  na 
ture  widowhood  was  intolerable,  married  again.  From  this 
time  till  his  death  in  1813,  five  years  later,  Miss  Sedgwick 
was  either  at  home,  or  in  Albany  with  her  brother  Theo 
dore,  now  married  to  Miss  Ridley,  or  with  Mrs.  Watson. 

Mr.  Harry  Sedgwick  to  Miss  Sedgwick. 

44  Stockbridgc,  4fh  April,  1809. 

"  My  friends  in  Boston  received  me  with  the  utmost  cor 
diality,  but  I  was  much  mortified  (personally)  in  finding  that 
a  very  considerable  part  of  my  importance  was  derived  from 
a  certain  female  relative,  a  little  chit  of  a  thing,  about  nine 
teen  years  old.  How  derogatory  to  the  dignity  of  a  man ! 
Acuteness  in  special  pleading,  skill  in  the  languages,  fourth 
of  July  orations,  all  disregarded,  and  to  be  noticed  for  a  lit 
tle  thing  in  petticoats,  called  a  sister,  merely  because  //  hap 
pens  to  be  pretty,  amiable,  and  accomplished !  I  told  the 
people  over  and  over  again  that  I  wished  they  would  not 
make  so  much  of  you,  and  take  a  little  more  cognizance  of 
me.  But  all  woutd  not  do ;  the  conversation  still  fastened 
on  the  principal  and  disregarded  the  adjunct.1' 

Mr.  Theodore  Sedgwick  to  Miss  Sedgwick. 

44  Albany,  1808, 

****<«  Robert  is  the  delight  of  our  society.  His  char 
acter  as  a  wit  is  established.  His  fun  flies  like  grape-shot ; 
nobody  esqapes  entirely  unhurt.  His  absence  will  make  a 
chasm  which  nothing  can  fill  up," 


Life  and  Letters. 


Mr.  Theodore  Sedgwick  to  Miss  Sedgwick. 

44  Albany,  October,  1809. 

*  *  *  *  «  oh,  that  I  were  rich !     All  Stockbridge  should 
be  transferred  here,  or  all  Albany  there.     You  should  all 
and  every  one  of  you  have  a  suite  of  apartments  in  my  house. 
*  *  *  *  As  it  is,  I  must  be  contented  with  my  cob-house  in 
Steuben  Street,  and  make  myself  as  happy  with  one  or  two 
of  you  at -a  time  as  the  absence  of  the  remainder  will  permit 
me  to  be." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  Watson. 

44  Stockbridge,  December  n,  1809. 

*  *  *  *  «  \ye  have  looked  and  listened  for  papa,  in  vain, 
for  a  week  past.     The  roads  are  intolerably  bad.     You, 
whose  eyes  are  accustomed  only  to  the  variety  of  round 
stones  and  Hags,  can  hardly  conceive  of  the  mud  one  day 
and  the  elevation  of  the  hubs  the  next.     This  is  the  first 
day  that  the  smiles  of  the  sun  have  greeted  us  for  a  week. 
I  am  sure  Jaques's  promise  of  no  enemies  but  '  winter  and 
rough  weather'  would  never  have  tempted  me  to  a  country 
life.     However,  I  must  do  it  the  justice  to  say  that  I  have 
never  passed  three  months  more  peacefully  and  happily  than 
the  last.     Our  fireside,  if  not  brilliant,  has  been  uniformly 
animated  with  good  humor.     Laura  has  quietly  pursued  the 
devious  windings  of  her  needle  ;  Mary  (who  is  emphatical 
ly  '  meek  nature's  child1)  and  I  have  alternately  sewed  and 
read,  till  Harry  has  joined  us  to  enrich  us  with  his  flow  of 
intellect.     You  know  our  dear  Charles  has  gone  to  Beth- 
lem  ;  his  situation  is  a  very  advantageous  one ;  this  con 
sideration  alone  could  reconcile  us  to  the  deprivation  of  his 
delightful  society." 


86  Lift  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 


Miss  Sedgwick  to  her  Father. 

'•New  York,  February  22, 1810. 

*  *  *  #  *f  Mr.  Watson,  in  a  letter  which  we  received  yes 
terday,  mentions  his  determination  of  spending  a  night  with 
you  before  his  return.  We  are  rejoiced  at  it,  for  his  sake, 
for  yours,  and  for  ours.  You  will  not,  perhaps,  think  that 
we  can  have  any  particular  interest  in  any  thing  which  can 
protract  his  return.  But  if  you  will  recollect  for  a  moment 
the  worship  of  images  and  relics,  you  will  not  wonder  that 
we  shall  have  no  small  addition  of  happiness  from  Mr.  Wat 
son's  having  seen  you  and  heard  you.  *  *  *  *  Have  you  seen 
Walsh's  Review  ?  If  you  have,  you  no  doubt  think  it  an 
honor  to  American  literature.  I  hope  you  are  a  subscriber 
for  that  or  the  Edinborough  Review.  The  latter,  I  think,  is 
the  most  valuable  as  a  literary  journal,  the  former  for  the 
high  integrity  of  its  political  principles.1' 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  Watson. 

"Albany,  March  23, 1810. 

"  I  am  sorry,  my  dearest  sister,  to  repress  your  tenderness 
by  a  confession,  mortifying  and  humiliating  to  me,  but  nev 
ertheless  due  to  truth.  On  no  subject  would  I  voluntarily 
be  guilty  of  hypocrisy,  and  on  that  whicin  involves  all  the 
importance  of  our  existence  I  should  shrink  from  the  slight 
est  insincerity.  You  misunderstood  my  last  letter.  I  ex 
posed  to  you  a  state  of  mind  and  feeling  produced,  not  by 
religious  impressions,  but  by  the  convictions  of  reason.  I 
do,  my  dear  Frances,  feel  my  utter  destitution  of  any  '  claim 
to  reward/  my  entire  helplessness  as  it  regards  any  merit 
of  my  own,  and  entire  dependence  on  mercy,  mediation,  and 
atonement.  I  should  be  unworthy  the  tenderness  that  dic 
tated  your  letter  if  I  did  not  acknowledge  that  my  heart  is 
not  filled  with  that  entire  reverence  and  love  for  the  Supreme 


Life  and  Letters.  87* 

Being  which  he  requires  from  his  creatures.  I  am  utterly 
destitute  of  those  holy  affections  which  should  be  so  com- 
pletely  incorporated  with  our  being  as  to  become  a  part  of 
it.  I  have  not  a  fixed  belief  on  some  of  the  most  material 
points  of  our  religion.  There  have  been  moments  of  my 
life  when  I  have  had  a  lively,  importunate,  though,  alasl 
transient  interest  awakened  in  serious  things,  but  the  cares 
and  the  pleasures  of  this  world  have  operated  on  these  sud 
den  impulses  as  the  'thorns'* in  the  parable.  Change  of 
scene  or  society  has  induced  me  to  shake  off  these  impres 
sions  as  fetters  that  constrained  my  vivacity,  and  to  venture 
forward  again,  forgetful  of  the  precious  anchor  I  had  so 
lightly  thrown  away." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  Watson. 

"  Albany,  April  20, 1810. 

******  Harry  will  be  here  to-morrow,  but  not  a  word 
of  my  darling  boy,  so  I  must  relinquish  the  hope  of  seeing 
him.  I  wonder,  my  dear  Frances,  if  you  love  him  more 
than  I  do.  Is  it  your  habit  and  your  delight  to  think  of 
him  every  night,  to  wish  for  him  every  day?  You  have 
other  children,  I  have  but  one ;  do  not  be  alarmed  at  my 
claiming  him.  My  power  over  him  is  that  of  affection  ex 
clusively,  and  it  must  yield  to  the  deadening  influence  of 
separation  ;  yours  can  not. 

"  Susan  has  heard  that  there  is  an  India  ship  arrived,  and 
she  wishes  you  to  select  from  its  cargo  cambric  of  the  qual 
ity  you  sent  me,  enough  for  two  coat-dresses,  made  to  wrap, 
with  trimmings  of  the  same.  She  does  not  care  how  cheap 
you  get  it,  provided  it  is  as  fine  as  mine.  One  yard  and  a 
half  of  fine  book-muslin,  for  handkerchiefs.  In  addition  to 
what  she  wants  for  the  dresses,  trimmings,  etc.,  she  wants  a 
yard  for  I  don't  know  what.  I  wish  there  was  some  philos 
ophy  in  vogue  that  would  free  us  from  the  slavery  of  these 


r  88  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

petty  wants.  Nothing  less  than  the  '  genius  of  universal 
emancipation1  will  effect  it,  and  I  am  afraid  that  even  this 
wonder-working  genius  has  no  microscopic  eye  to  discern 
the  pigmy  chains  that  bind  us  in  this  debasing  dependence. 
These  aspirations  to  heroic  indifference  are  nothing  more 
nor  less  than  the  consequence  of  a  provoking  disappoint 
ment  of  my  mantua-maker ;  so  you  see  I  am  not  free  from, 
but  irritated  by  my  chains.11 

Miss  Sedgwifk  to  Charles  Sedgwick. 

"New  York,  December  17, 1810. 

"  I  could  not  resist  a  certain  impulsive  motion  toward  my 
pen  when  I  heard  that  General  W was  going  this  even 
ing,  and  I  involuntarily  began  to  address  my  dear  Charles. 
I  can  not  say  that  I  should  not  have  done  it  with  malice 
prepense,  but  the  fact  is  I  did  it  without  any  prepense  at 
all.  If  I  do  not  write  more  than  ten  lines,  and  those  not 
worth  the  reading,  forgive  me,  dear  Charles,  in  consideration 
of  an  intolerable  headache  and  stupidity.  I  am  no  philoso 
pher;  I  deny  the  doctrine  that  pain  is  no  evil,  and  hold 
that  an  effect  must  follow  a  cause,  and  that  if  I  have  a  head 
ache  I  must  have  a  heart-ache  too.  I  presume  our  friend, 

Mrs.  F ,  has  long  before  this  dispelled  the  *  dark  clouds' 

that  shrouded  her  purpose,  and  made  you  all  stare  and  gape 
with  amazement.  I  think  we  shall  soon  get  so  accustomed 
at  Stockbridge  to  the  most  'wonderful  wonders  that  the 
world  ever  wondered  at,1  that  they  will  be  no  more  strange 
to  us  than  the  rising  and  setting  of  the  sun.  We  will  write 
a  new  play,  which  shall  annihilate  the  reputation  of  The 
Rival  Mothers  and  The  Rival  Queens,  and  call  it  The  Rival 
Strangers.  And,  if  you  please,  dear  Charles,  we  will  have 
an  under-plot.  There  shall  be  a  young  man,  in  all  the  pride 
of  self-confidence,  conquered  at  the  very  moment  that  he  is 
boasting  his  security  against  the  whole  artillery  of  a  young 


Life  and  Letters.  89 

lady's  charms.  You  must  supply  me  with  the  detail  of  inci 
dents,  and  I  will  furnish  the  denouement. 

"  We  often  wish,  my  dear  brother,  that  you  were  here  to 
partake  in  some  of  our  pleasures,  and  to  confer  a  great  deal 
of  happiness.  But,  after  all,  there  is  no  place  like  that  home 
that  is  adorned  and  blessed  with  the  presence  of  our  beloved 
parent. 

"  I  am  extremely  concerned  to  hear  of  Mrs.  Sedgwick's 
indisposition.  Tell  my  dearest  papa  and  tell  her  that  I  am 
sure  I  could  be  of  service  and  comfort  to  them,  and  that,  if 
they  wish  it,  I  will  come  home  at  any  time.  There  are  per 
sons  constantly  going  to  Albany  with  whom  I  would  will 
ingly  trust  myself,  and  with  whom  I  think  I  could  go  com 
fortably.  My  dearest  papa  must  not  withhold  the  expres 
sion  of  his  wishes  from  any  consideration  of  the  difficulty  of 
traveling  at  this  season,  for  I  do  not  fear  it  at  all ;  and  even 
if  I  did,  I  hope  I  could  conquer  trifles  for  them." 

Mr.  Robert  Sedgivick  to  Miss  SeitgwicA. 

"  New  York,  October,  i8u,just  as  he  was  ) 
*  about  to  be  admitted  to  the  bar.         ) 

*  *  *  *  «  Your  letters  lie  open  before  me,  and,  as  often 
as  I  cast  a  look  at  them,  I  thank  Heaven  that  I  have  such 
a  sister,  and  my  heart  swells  with  a  pride  which,  I  am  sure, 
would  not  bring  a  blush  upon  the  cheek  of  the  purest  saint 
above.  I  have  often  thought  it  almost  a  miracle  that,  in  the 
providence  of  God,  I  have  such  sisters  and  brothers — that 
we  have  still  such  a  father,  and  that  we  have  had  such  a 
mother.  Our  mother  is  in  heaven  :  God  grant  that  we  may 
meet  her,  as  a  family,  there.  But,  while  we  remain  on  earth, 
let  us  never  waste  a  particle  of  that  invaluable  treasure 
which  we  have  in  each  other's  affect  ions." 


90  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mr.  Charles  Sedgwick. 

"New  York,  Febryary  20,  1812. 

"  Your  letters,  dear  Charley,  are  like  angels'  visits  in  more 
than  this  point  of  resemblance — that  '  they  are  few  and  far 
between.'  I  am  afraid,  if  an  angel  was  to  vouchsafe  me  the 
honor  of  a  visit,  she  would  not  come  with  words  so  sweetly 
soothing  as  those  dictated  by  a  brother's  partial  kindness. 
I  should  hear  a  very  different  story  when  the  words  came 
to  be  weighed  in  the  balance  of  truth.  Indeed,  my  dear 
Charles,  all  the  sermons  I  hear  m  a  month,  and  all  the  writ 
ers  on  human  depravity,  with  Hopkins  at  their  head,  and  all 
the  misanthropic  sayings  of  all  the  old  bachelors  and  cynics 
that  have  ever  lived  can  not  counteract — the  '  sweet  morsel' 
I  can  not  call  it,  but — the  mass  of  flattery  you  have  so  ele 
gantly  served  up  in  your  letter.  It  has  been  said  by  some 
great  and  wise  man,  and  by  a  thousand  that  are  neither  wise 
nor  great,  that  habit  is  second  nature ;  now,  by  the  aid  of 
this  wonderful  operator,  I  had  just  begun  to  be  reconciled  to 
the  sight  of  my  own  features  in  the  mirror  of  truth  (and  a 
picture  more  delightfully  horrible  no  trafficker  in  human 
woes  could  desire),  when  your  letter  arrived  and  turned  me 
as  impulsively  from  the  hateful'  reality  to  the  sweet  illusion 
it  presented,  as  I  would  shut  my  eyes  upon  a  spectacle  of 
misery  to  dream  of  happiness.  The  next  letter  that  you 
write,  by  way  of  unraveling  this  web  of  mischief,  I  desire 
may  be  filled  with  extracts  from  Hopkins's  Diary,  Edward's 
Meditations,  and  Uncle  West's  Sermons." 

Mr.  Harry  Sedgwick  to  Miss  Sedgwick. 

44  Boston,  Juno  22, 1812. 

"  In  looking  over  my  letters,  I  found  a  delightful  scrap  of 
yours  on  the  sacred  character  of  a  pastor.  I  believe  that  I 
shall  insert  it  in  the  Messenger,  that  you  may  enjoy  the 


Life  and  Letters.  9 1 

novel  pleasure  of  seeing  yourself  in  print.  I  have,  my  dear 
sister  and  dearest  muse,  the  pleasure  to  inform  you  that,  by 
the  appointment  of  the  superior  powers,  for  one  third  portion 
of  the  time  I  guide  the  public  taste  and  direct  the  public 
mind,  viz.,  one  week  in  three  I  superintend  the  Messenger 
by  request  of  proprietors.  Now,  unlike  the  Turk,  I  can  bear 
a  sister  near  the  throne,  I  proffer  to  you  the  fairest  portion 
of  my  dominions,  nay,  the  royal  palace — the  imperial  seat 
itself.  You  shall  reign  sole  empress  of  the  POET'S  CORNER." 

Mis s  Sedgwick  to  her  Father. 

"New  York,  March  I,  1812. 

"  I  am  startled  at  the  date  of  my  letter.  Except  when  I 
think  of  you,  my  dear  father,  and  of  some  others  that  my 
heart  aches  to  see,  this  winter  seems  to  have  flown  like  the 
vision  of  sleep.  Your  observation  that  your  life  appeared 
to  you  a  long  one,  has  often  impressed  me  as  the  most  strik 
ing  proof  of  the  profitable  employment  of  your  time.  I  have 
regarded  your  life  to  find  some  rules  of  action  to  apply  to 
my  own,  but  I  have  relinquished  the  scrutiny  with  the  same 
feeling  of  disappointment  that  the  humble  architect  of  a  cot 
tage  would  have,  turning  from  the  survey  of  a  lofty  palace, 
in  which  he  had  almost  absurdly  hoped  to  find  a  model  for 
his  little  dwelling.  A  life  dignified  by  usefulness,  in  which 
it  has  been  the  object  and  the  delight  to  do  good,  and  the 
happiness  to  do  it  in  an  extended  sphere,  does,  however, 
furnish  some  points  of  imitation  for  the  most  limited  routine 
of  domestic  life.  Wisdom  and  virtue  are  never  at  a  loss  for 
occasions  and  time  for  their  exercise,  and  the  same  light 
that  lightens  the  world  is  applied  to  individual  use  and  grat 
ification.  You  may  benefit  a  nation,  my  dear  papa,  and  I 
may  improve  the  condition  of  a  fellow-being.  I  know  I  am 
not  ungrateful  for  the  blessing  of  your  example,  and  I  trust 
that  I  am  not  without  some  ardent  desires  to  benefit  by  it. 


92  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

"  The  Doctor's  letter  was  written  in  such  a  jesting  mood, 
that  I  thought  the  account  of  your  attack  of  the  gout  was  a 
figure  of  speech,  to  decorate  his  epistle.  Charles's  letter, 
however,  informed  us  that  you  had  in  sober  earnest  a  genu 
ine  attack.  I  am  almost  afraid  that  you  will  suspect  me,  as 
you  have  formerly,  of  a  malicious  satisfaction  in  your  pain. 
I  am  certainly  bound  to  speak  the  truth  in  so  honorable  a 
presence,  and  therefore  I  must  confess  to  you  that  I  was  not 
sorry  that  the  disorders  which  threatened  your  health  had 
found  this  termination.  I  hope,  my  dear  papa,  that  you 
have  not  been  very  persevering  in  your  efforts  to  counteract 
the  kind  purpose  of  nature.  I  know  very  well  that  it  would 
take  more  than  all  the  sophistry  of  the  Stoics  to  convince 
you  that  'pain  is  no  evil ;'  but  I  hope  it  enters  into  your  sys 
tem  of  practice,  if  not  of  philosophy,  to  submit  to  a  lesser 
evil  (though  it  be  even  as  severe  as  the  gout)  to  escape  an 
alarming  danger.  You  will  not  think,  my  dear  father,  that 
I  am  regardless  of  your  suffering;  so  far  from  it,  that,  were 
my  prayers  effectual,  every  moment  of  your  life  would  be 
filled  with  ease  and  enjoyment." 

Judge  Scdgwick  was  on  a  visit  to  Boston  with  his  wife 
and  daughter  when  he  was  seized  with  his  last  illness,  and 
died  January  24,  18x3.  Miss  Sedgwick's  first  acquaintance 
with  Dr.  Charming  was  during  his  ministrations  at  the  death 
bed  of  her  father,  and  his  doctrines  must  have  been  strong 
ly  recommended  to  her  mind  by  the  acceptance  they  found 
with  the  person  she  loved  and  revered  most  on  earth.  It 
was  years,  indeed,  before  she  was  able  to  receive  them  fully, 
but  his  lofty  spirituality,  and  clear,  calm  intelligence,  drew 
her  on,  as  she  came  to  know  him  better,  and  the  intimacy 
which  began  within  a  short  time  between  her  and  his  sister, 
Mrs.  William  Russel,  and  his  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Frank  Chan- 
ning,  aided  powerfully  in  freeing  her  from  the  dark  and 


Life  and  Letters.  93 

dreary  dogmas  of  Geneva.  It  would  be  giving,  however,  a 
false  impression  to  say  that  she  was  ever  heavily  enthralled 
by  the  Calvinistic  theology.  One  of  her  sisters,  Mrs.  Pom- 
eroy,  was,  and  suffered  all  that  a  tender  spirit  can  from  such 
cruel  perversion  of  its  best  instincts ;  but  her  own  ortho 
doxy,  though  sincere,  had  always  a  very  liberal  tendency, 
and,  as  appears  from  a  letter  quoted  previously  (March  23, 
1810),  and  expressing  much  of  the  morbid  and  unnatural 
sense  of  helplessness,  and  alienation  from  divine  things,  in 
culcated  by  that  creed,  she  was  unable  to  believe  some  of 
its  "  most  material  points."  When  she  joined  Dr.  Mason's 
Church,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  it  probably  appeared  to  her, 
from  her  previous  observation  and  training,  the  only  way  of 
expressing  the  deep  sense  of  religious  obligation  which  un 
derlay  her  whole  nature,  yet  she  early  revolted  from  the 
harshness  and  irrationality  of  the  belief.  Dr.  Mason's  elo 
quence  charmed  her,  and  his  fervency  interested  her,  but 
the  degrading  nature  of  his  views  concerning  God,  and  their 
stern  cruelty  toward  man,  together  with  his  fierce  intoler 
ance  of  opposite  opinions,  repelled  her  more  and  more.  In 
1820  the  first  Unitarian  Society,  was  gathered  in  New  York, 
and  in  1821  she  formally  separated  herself  from  the  Calvin 
istic  Church,  and  soon  after,  with  her  brother  Henry  and  his 
wife,  joined  the  new  communion. 

But  this  belongs  to  a  later  period.  The  next  letters  refer 
to  her  father's  illness  and  death. 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  A/rs.  Watson. 

"  Boston,  January  5, 1813. 

"  MY  DEAR  SISTER, — Our  fears  have  been  calmed  by  the 
favorable  appearance  that  our  father's  disorder  put  on,  but 
for  a  few  days  past  he  has  not  gained,  and  for  two  days  I 
think  he  has  lost  ground.  He  has  been  uniformly  silent  as 
to  his  feelings  and  apprehensions  till  yesterday.  Yesterday 


94  £*fe  °f  Catharine  Jlf.  Sedgwick. 

Mrs.  Sedgwick  walked  out  for  the  first  time,  and  while  she 
was  gone  I  was  alone  with  him.  He  said  to  me  (without  my 
introducing  the  subject)  that  he  had  for  many  years  been 
extremely  desirous  of  making  a  public  profession  of  religion 
(here  he  was  so  much  agitated  as  to  be  obliged  to  stop  for 
some  time).  He  had  been  deterred  from  very  unworthy 
motives — he  had  feared  giving  pain  to  Dr.  West  and  many 
good  people  in  Stockbridge  by  joining  any  other  than  their 
Churchy  and  he  could  not  bring  his  feelings  to  joining  that. 
He  was  so  much  overcome  that  I  made  every  effort  to  sus 
tain  and  assure  him.  I  told  him  that  Mr.  Channing  had 
been  desirous  to  see  him.  He  said  that  if  he  understood 
Mr.  Channing's  belief,  it  agreed  with  his  better  than  any 
other  clergyman's  in  Boston,  and,  should  it  please  God  to 
restore  him  to  sufficient  health,  it  should  be  his  first  act  to 
devote  himself  to  Him.  I  suggested  that,  should  he  wish  it, 
Mr.  C.  could  administer  the  sacrament  to  htm  here.  *  Not 
at  present,  my  love/  said  he, '  for  if  it  should  please  God,  I 
wish  to  do  it  in  the  face  of  the  world/  My  dear  Frances,  I 
know  you  will  be  overwhelmed  with  gratitude  that  we  have 
so  much  to  console  us  in  any  event.  How  shall  we  evince 
our  sense  of  the  tender  mercies  of  our  God,  and,  above  all, 
this  last  surpassing  kindness  ?" 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  her  Sister,  Jlfrs.  JPotneroy. 

44  Boston,  January  15,  1813. 

"Saturday  Mr.  Channing  visited  papa.  Fapa  imparted 
to  him  his  earnest  desire  to  unite  himself  to  the  visible 
Church,  and  his  reluctance  to  defer  it.  Mr.  C.,  who  indeed 
is  a  minister  of  consolation  from  the  throne  of  mercy,  read 
ily  acquiesced  in  his  wishes.  He  explained  to  htm  his  un 
derstanding  of  this  holy  sacrament,  which  agreed  entirely 
with  papa's.  He  then  proceeded  to  administer  it  in  the 
most  solemn  and  affecting  manner.  Papa  expressed,  in  re- 


Life  and  Letters,  95 

ceiving  it,  his  desire  to  repose  himself  entirely  on  the  merits 
and  atonement  of  our  Savior.  The  performance  of  this 
duty  seemed  to  remove  the  bar  of  reserve  that  opposed  the 
flowing  out  of  papa's  heart,  and  he  now  shows  that  he  feels 
his  tenure  of  life  to  be  very  slight,  and  that  his  affections 
dwell  on  heavenly  things ;  the  Word  of  God,  that  precious 
gift  to  men,  whose  worth  I  believe  is  most  felt  in  the  sick- 
chamber,  he  listens  to  with  unremitting  interest.  Oh,  may  I 
never  be  ungrateful  for  the  blessed  privilege  of  being  allowed 
to  watch  the  varying  looks,  and  hear  the  tender  accents  of 
our  beloved  parent.  Our  excellent  brothers  are  devoted, 
and  I  sometimes  feel,  when  we  are  all  assembled  around  our 
father,  as  if  our  sainted  mother  watched  and  approved  us.1' 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Mrs.  Watson. 

"  Stockbridge,  February  15,  1813. 

"  Every  day's  experience  teaches  me  better  what  we  have 
lost,  and  enables  me,  I  hope,  in  some  degree,  to  improve  this 
rebuke  of  our  heavenly  Father.  Still,  when  I  review  the 
few  last  years,  I  forget  the  bitterness  that  has  been  infused 
into  our  cup  of  joy,  the  corrosion  of  our  cares,  and  we  seem 
to  have  closed  a  day  of  happiness,  whose  brightness  was 
never  shaded  by  a  single  cloud,  or  sullied  with  a  single  spot." 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Mr.  Robert  Sedgwick. 

"  Albany,  March  1 1, 1813. 

"  You  need  not  fear  to  give  me  pain  by  recurring  to  the 
scenes  we  have  passed  through  this  winter.  No,  my  dear 
brother,  the  recollection  of  them  fills  all  my  solitary  mo 
ments  with  cherished  and  elevating  thoughts.  I  am  most 
solicitous  that  the  impression  they  have  made  should  never 
be  weakened — that  we  may  remember  that  we  have  seen 
and  felt  the  triumph  of  that  mercy  which  rescues  mortality 
from  the  taint  of  sin  and  the  curse  of  death.  And  may  our 


96  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

experience  of  the  loving  kindness  of  our  heavenly  Father 
strengthen  our  devotion  to  him,  and  make  us  to  seek  more 
earnestly  that  salvation  which  is  the  free  gift  of  Infinite 
Mercy  1 

"  We  have  a  treasury  of  sweet  and  consoling  reflections  in 
the  remembrance  of  the  lives  of  both  our  parents,  and  all 
rendered  ineffably  precious  by  the  hope  that  they  have  pass 
ed  from  earth  to  heaven  ;  that  they  are  now  reaping  the  full- 
ness  of  that  joy  which  can  not  be  impaired,  though  it  was 
purchased  by  suffering." 

Mis s  Sedgwick  to  Mr,  Robert  Sedgwick. 

"  Stockbriclge,  June  7,  1813. 

"  I  have  just  finished,  my  dear  brother,  the  second  peruual 
of  your  kind  letter  which  I  received  to-day.  I  often  think 
that,  if  our  hearts  were  elevated  and  tempered  as  they  should 
be,  our  prayers  would  be  filled  with  gratitude  and  prai;>e. 
The  current  of  our  affections  to  our  friends  is  in  a  propor 
tionate  degree  sweetened  with  those  qualities.  There  is  an 
activity  in  the  principle  of  love  that,  like  the  impetuous  ele 
ment  of  fire,  brightens  and  purifies  every  object  it  touches. 
A  necessary  humility,  my  dear  brother,  compels  me  to  see, 
in  the  operation  of  your  own  mind,  some  of  the  causes  of 
those  expressions  of  partiality  which  have  dilated  my  heart 
with  gratitude  to  Him  who  hath  been  pleased  to  give  me 
such  value  in  the  eyes  of  those  whose  favor  I  covet  above 
every  earthly  good.  I  do  love  my  brothers  with  perfect  de- 
votedness,  and  they  are  such  brothers  as  may  put  gladness 
into  a  sister's  spirit.  I  look  to  you  as  the  representatives 
of  my  father,  and  I  bless  my  God  that  counsel,  protection, 
and  love,  parental  in  its  disinterestedness  and  its  tenderness, 
blesseth  my  life.  Never,  my  dear  Robert,  did  brother  and 
sister  have  more  ample  experience  of  the  purity  of  love,  and 
the  sweet  exchange  of  offices  of  kindness  that  binds  hearts 


Life  and  Letters.  97 

indissolubly  together.  Indissolubly  I  say,  for  that  tie  on 
which  the  acceptance  and  the  blessing  of  God  rests  can  not 
be  sundered.  There  is  a  sacredness  in  the  love  of  orphan 
children  that  none  can  comprehend  so  well,  or  feel  so  in 
tensely  as  we  do,  for  to  whose  lot  hath  it  fallen  to  possess 
such  parents  as  we  have,  or  to  feel  suyh  pangs  in  severance 
from  them  ?  *  *  *  *  Have  I  almost  concluded  my  letter 
and  not  thanked  you  for  the  Corsair?  If  you  had  seen  my 
pleasure  in  reading  it,  it  would  have  been  the  best  thank- 
offering.  Byron  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  wasting  his  noble 
genius  upon  Giaours  and  Corsairs.  He  might  as  well  hide 
the  ugliness  of  states-prison  convicts  with  pearls  and  dia 
monds  as  veil  the  deformity  of  his  heroes.11 

After  Judge  Sedgwick's  death,  Mrs.  Sedgwick  returned 
to  her  own  family,  and  Catharine  became  housekeeper  for 
her  brothers  in  the  old  home,  endeared  to  them  the  more 
through  sorrow.  The  few  letters  that  my  limits  permit  me 
to  select  from  those  of  this  period  show  the  quiet  happiness 
of  her  life,  varied  by  an  occasional  journey  or  visit,  a  win 
ter  in  Albany  with  her  brother  Theodore,  and  the  quarter 
ing  in  Stockbridge  of  some  French  officers  in  the  British 
service,  prisoners  in  the  War  of  1812.  Among  these  were 
some  clever  and  accomplished  men,  whose  society  was  a 
delightful  acquisition  in  the  tranquil  country  winter,  and 
always  looked  back  upon  with  keen  interest  and  pleasure. 

Miss  Settgwick  to  Mr.  ^Robert  Scdgwick. 

14  Stockbridge,  July  S,  1 813. 

41  There -is  hardly  a  joy  or  sorrow  passes  before  me,  dear 
Robert,  that  I  do  not  bear  it  on  my  mind  to  you,  and  yet 
how  seldom  have  you  the  record  of  it  I  I  suppose  that  you 
will  think  that  affection,  like  the  Frenchman's  pity,  should 
have  some  visible  effect,  and  would  rather  say  '  love  me  a 

E 


98  JLife  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwicfc. 

letter/  than  that  I  should  love  you  with  *  a  love  passing  that 
of  woman.1  I  am  not  myself  an  admirer  qf  love  in  the  ab 
stract,  or  a  believer  in  the  passions  agitating  and  swelling 
the  fountain  of  love,  the  heart,  unless  I  can  see  the  evidence 
flowing  from  it  in  streams  of  benevolence  and  kindness. 

"I  rejoice,  my  belgved  brother,  that  you  feel  the'  import 
ance  and  efficacy  of  that  religion  which  alone  can  give  us 
grace  in  this  world  and  life  in  the  next,  and  I  long  to  see 
you  give  your  testimony  of  your  acceptance  of  the  forgiving 
love  of  your  Master.  Our  souls  are  his,  and  shall  we  not 
freely  sacrifice  to  him  the  best  affections  and  services  of  our 
hearts,  showing  forth  our  love,  and  proving  by  our  confi 
dence  and  obedience  that  we  are  no  longer  outcasts  from 
his  family?  God  grant,  in  his  infinite  mercy,  that  we  may 
all  touch  the  garment  of  our  Savior's  righteousness  and  be 
made  whole." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mr.  JZobert  Sedgivick. 

"  Stockbridgc,  August  15,  1813. 

*.***««  j  am  satisfied,  by  long  and  delightful  experi 
ence,  that  I  can  never  love  any  body  better  than  my  broth 
ers.  I  have  no  expectation  of  ever  finding  their  equal  in 
worth  and  attraction,  therefore — do  not  be  alarmed ;  I  am 
not  on  the  verge  of  a  vow  of  celibacy,  nor  have  I  the  slight 
est  intentions  of  adding  any  rash  resolutions  to  the  ghosts  of 
those  that  have  been  frightened  to  death  by  the  terrors  of 
maiden  life  ;  but,  therefore — I  shall  never  change  my  condi 
tion  until  I  change  my  mind.  You  will  acknowledge,  dear 
Robert,  that,  notwithstanding  the  proverbial  mutability  of  a 
woman's  inclination,  the  probability  is  in  favor  of  my  con* 
tinuing  to  stamp  all  the  coin  of  my  kindness  with  a  sister's 
impress,  particularly  when  you  consider  that  every  year  de 
preciates  the  coin  in  the  market  of  matrimony." 


Life  and  Letters,  99 

Mr.  Robert  Sedgwtik  to  Miss  Sedgivick. 

"  New  York,  August,  1813. 

"Mv  VERY  DEAR  SISTER  KATE, — Your  letter  of  Wednesday 
has  just  reached  me  ;  my  very  soul  thanks  you  for  it.  *  *  *  * 
I  can  never  be  sufficiently  grateful  to  my  Maker  for  having 
given  me  such  a  sister.  If  1  had  no  other  sin  to  answer  for 
than  that  of  being  so  unworthy  of  her  as  I  am,  it  would  be 
more  than  I  could  bear,  and  yet,  when  I  read  your  letters,  I 
almost  think  I  am  what  I  should  be.  I  know  I  feel  a  strong 
aspiration  to  be  such,  and  I  am  sure  they  make  me  better 
as  well  as  happier.  Lamentable,  indeed,  would  be  the  deg 
radation  of  any  being  who  would  not  make  any  effort  to 
merit  such  affection,  who  would  not  find  fresh  strength  and 
fresh  spirit  in  wielding  the  armor  of  virtue  from  the  consid 
eration  of  its  value  and  from  the  fear  of  its  forfeiture." 

Miss  Sedgwifk  to  Mrs.  JPomeroy. 

"New  York,  March  12, 1814. 

"  My  spirits  were  refreshed  with  your  kind  letter,  dear 
Eliza,  soon  after  our  return  from  Philadelphia.  In  conse 
quence  of  the  extreme  fatigue  of  the  journey,  and  a  cold 
which  I  caught,  I  have  been  confined  to  the  house,  and  chief 
ly  to  my  bed,  until  yesterday.  This  will  excuse  to  you  my 
apparent  neglect  in  not  before  giving  you  an  account  of  our 
return.  We  were  so  continually  in  company  while  there 
that  we  were  fairly  tired  out  before  we  left.  Just  on  the  eve 
of  our  departure  I  took  care  to  excite  your  sympathy  by 
communicating  to  you  my  horrid  fears.  I  was  several  times 
on  the  point  of  deciding  to  remain  there  until  the  traveling 
should  be  better,  but  that  there  was  so  little  reason  to 'hope 
for  at  this  season  of  the  year,  that  I  thought  I  might  as  well 
take  my  chance ;  for,  as  Robert  very  sagely  observed,  the 
worst  that  could  happen  was  breaking  our  necks.  How- 


ioo  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

ever,  the  roads  were,  in  fact,  more  tedious  than  dangerous, 
and,  though  my  foolish  heart  was  hardly  out  of  my  mouth 
all  the  way,  there  was  more  cowardice  than  wisdom  in  it. 
In  our  mountainous  regions  we  have  no  idea  of  the  capacity 
of  the  earth  for  making  mud  in  this  flat  and  clayey  country. 
Robert  often  amused  himself  with  imagining  your  misery  in 
the  like  situation.  I  am  sure  our  fellow-travelers  must  have 
often  wondered  who  the  '  little  lady1  was.  However,  dear 
Eliza,  your  sweet  and  welcome  image  always  soothed  me 
into  silence  and  tranquillity.  I  never,  in  any  situation,  felt 
more  lively  emotions  of  confidence  in  the  protection  of 
Heaven,  nor  more  animated  sensations  of  gratitude  for  it. 
I  am  convinced  that  if  we  lived  more  spiritually,  more  under 
the  impression  of  a  particular  providence,  we  should  find  in 
calculable  comfort  resulting  from  it — that  simplicity  of  con 
fidence  that  a  little  child  feels  in  the  presence  of  a  parent 
where  he  is  assured  nothing  will  harm  him.  I  am  very  anx 
ious  to  hear  again  from  your  little  boy.  I  fear  you  have 
suffered  a  great  deal  of  fatigue  and  anxiety  for  him.  He 
was  but  a  delicate  little  plant  at  best,  but  so  lovely  and  in 
teresting  that  I  thought  him  worth  great  pains  in  the  rear 
ing.  You  always  have  some  trouble  among  your  children 
when  I  am  away  from  you.  The  absence  of  my  maternal 
cart,  I  suppose.  The  other  day,  when  I  was  sick — would  you 
believe  it,  dear  Eliza  ? — I  was  so  babyish  as  actually  to  cry 
because  I  could  not  sec  you.  I  thought  my  rheumatism 
would  have  vanished  if  I  could  but  have  felt  the  healing 
touch  of  your  little  hand." 

Mrs.  JPomcroy  to  Miss  Scdgwick  (1814). 

"  And  have  you  been  sick  without  affording  me  the  com 
fort  of  nursing  you  ?  *  *  *  *  Oh,  my  dear  sister,  may  God 
in  great  mercy  long  spare  your  precious  life.  It  is  precious 
to  many,  but  I  can  tell  no  one  how  dear  it  is  to  me.  Strange, 


Life  and  Letters.  ,  101 

but  most  true,  you  are  to  me  mother,  child,  friend,  and  sister, 
and  I  have  long  known  that  you  are  held  too  closely." 

Mist  Sedgwick  to  Mr.  Robert  Sedgivick. 

"  Stock  bridge,  September  10,  1814. 

"  I  think,  my  dear  brother,  we  shall  find,  in  the  different 
conditions  of  life,  a  more  impartial  distribution  of  blessings 
than  we  are  at  first  apt  to  believe.  I  mean  to  apply  this  to 
the  different  advantages  for  religious  improvement  in  the 
city  and  country.  The  city  is  the  theatre  for  great  men.  The 
energy  of  one  powerful  mind  is  diffused  through  a  great 
number ;  the  magic  touch  of  eloquence  awakens  them  to 
life  and  action  ;  the  dry  bones  are  shaken  ;  a  living  soul  is 
breathed  into  them,  and  they  are  thus  quickened  in  the 
paths  of  pleasantness  and  peace.  The  country  is  con 
demned  to  the  ministration  of  inferior  men,  but  it  presents 
every  facility  for  moral  refinement  and  religious  improve 
ment.  As  you  once  said  to  me,  dear  Robert, '  the  impress 
of  God's  bounty  is  upon  all  his  works.1  Every  object  pro 
claims  a  present  Deity.  '  Day  unto  day  uttereth  speech, 
and  night  unto  night  showcth  knowledge ;'  and  the  heart 
must  be  insensible,  or  the  spirit  rebellious,  if  we  do  not  with 
fervency  join  in  the  exclamation  of  the  Psalmist, '  Let  every 
thing  that  hath  breath  praise  the  Lord.' " 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  R.  S.  Watson. 

41  Stockbridgc,  November  30,  1815. 

"  Only  think  of  it,  dear,  but  you  have  been  gone  several 
weeks,  and  have  not  written  one  word  to  your  aunt*  who 
loves  you  belter  than  all  the  boys  of  your  size  in  Christen 
dom.  No  doubt  you  have  been  attending  to  some  great  af 
fairs,  and  have  forgotten  your  poor  old  aunt.  No,  my  dear 
est  boy,  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  I  dare  to  say  you  think 
every  day  of  Stockbridgc  and  of  your  friends,  and  never  for- 


102  .          Lift:  of  .Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

get  there  is  nobody  in  the  wide  world  that  loves  you  better 
than  your  own  true  '  aunty/  To-day  is  Thanksgiving.  You 
do  not  know  what  that  is.  Well,  I  will  tell  you.  At  the  close 
of  the  year,  the  governor  of  the  state  tells  all  the  people  that 
they  must  go  to  church  and  give  thanks  to  God  for  all  his 
goodness  to  us,  particularly  for  making  the  sun  to  shine 
upon  the  earth,  and  the  showers  to  fall  upon  it,  so  that  the 
things  that  grow  upon  it  are  ripened.  Last  summer  you 
saw  the  apples  on  the  trees.  Now  they  are  picked,  and  part 
of  them  made  into  cider,  and  part  of  them  laid  into  our  cel 
lars  to  eat.  You  saw  the  wheat,  and  the  rye,  and  corn  grow 
ing.  It  is  now  all  gathered,  and  prepared  for  us  and  for  our 
cattle  to  eat.  Well,  dear  Bob,  to  make  a  long  story  short, 
after  church  we  have  a  noble  dinner  of  fat  turkeys,  geese, 
ducks,  fowls,  etc.,  besides  mince-pies,  and  apple-pies,  and  the 
Yankee's  glory,  pumpkin-pies,  and  are  all  as  happy  as  pos 
sible,  remembering  who  it  is  that  has  given  us  all  these  good 
things." 

Miss  Setlgiuick  to  Mrs.  Watson. 

"  Albany,  March  25,  1816. 

"  I  look  forward  to  a  very  happy  summer  at  S.  Have 
we  not  always  been  happy  there  ?  I  esteem  it  the  greatest 
privilege  of  my  life  that  I  have  been  enabled  in  some  hum 
ble  measure  to  fill  the  place  of  our  departed  friends  by  con 
tributing  my  efforts  to  preserve  the  attractions  and  enjoy 
ments  of  that  home.  And  now,  dear  Frances,  more  than 
ever,  I  discern  the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  Providence  in 
so  ordering  my  life  that  I  shall  have  it  in  my  power  to  add 
to  tl\e  quiet  and  happiness  of  yours.  The  great  disadvan 
tage  and  the  only  reproach  of  a  single  life  is,  that  we  poor 
spinsters  are  generally  condemned  to  uselessness,  and  Sa 
tan,  availing  himself  of  his  prerogative,  *  finds  mischief  still 
for  idle  hands  to  Jo/  It  has  always,  and  I  pray  it  may  ever 
be  my  happy  destiny  to  have  employment  enough  to  keep 


Life  and  Jitters.  103 

me  out  of  danger  of  falling  into  the  folly  of  repining  or  the 
meanness  of  envying." 

Mr.  Robert  Sedgwick  to  Miss  Sedgwick. 

•«  New  York,  March  28,  1816. 

*  *  *  *  «  Nevertheless,  my  dearest  sister,  I  would  not 
have  you  love  me  any  less  than  you  do,  because  your  affec 
tion  has  an  irresistible  power  to  improve  and  to  elevate,  to 
lift  above  low  attachments,  to  separate  from  unworthy  asso 
ciations,  to  cheer  me  when  I  am  sad,  to  rouse  me  when  I  am 
inefficient,  to  rescue  both  me  and  the  world  from  that  sort 
of  morbid  quarrel  into  which  we  are  apt  to  get  with  each 
other,  when  it  seems  as  if  there  were  nothing  here  worth 
living  for,  and  to  pour  a  golden  light  on  every  object  that 
skirts  the  path  of  my  pilgrimage." 

Mr.  Robert  Sedgwick  to  Miss  Sedgwick. 

"New  York,  September,  1816. 

"  Thanks,  thanks — how  cold  a  word,  my  clearest  Kate,  in 
return  for  your  heart-cheering  letter  I  It  came  to  me  in  the 
midst  of  my  Nol  Pros.,  special  verdicts,  depositions,  protests, 
business  correspondence,  etc.,  like  a  visitant  from  the  skies. 
Indeed,  my  dear  Kate,  you  may  laugh  at  me,  if  you  will,  for 
saying  so,  either  for  my  affectation  or  my  romance  ;  there  is 
something  about  your  influence  over  me  which  seems  to 
have  'shuffled  off  all  mortal  coil1  of  earthliness ;  to  be  un 
mixed  with  any  thing  that  remains  to  be  perfected ;  to  be 
perfectly  spiritualized,  and  yet  to  retain  its  power  of  contact 
with  every  part  of  its  subject j  in  short,  to  be  that  with  re 
gard  to  which  I  hardly  know  whether  I  have  any  distinct 
conceptions,  or  whether  I  want  language  to  express  them. 
Lest  I  should  talk  foolishly  on  this  subject,  I  will  dismiss  it, 
only  begging  you  not  to  forget  how  your  letters  cheer,  re 
joice,  elevate,  renovate  me." 


104  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Setlgwick. 

In  1817  Harry  Sedgwick  married  Miss  Jane  Minot,  of 
Boston,  a  union  by  which  the  happiness  of  the  whole  family 
was  increased  as  much,  if  possible,  as  his  own,  and  which 
gave  to  Miss  Sedgwick,  in  particular,  a  sister  whose  rare 
sweetness  and  strength  of  character,  and  piquant  originality 
of  mind,  excited  her  Admiration  and  love  in  a  degree  that 
was  only  heightened  by  an  unbroken  intimacy  of  more  than 
forty  years. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harry  Sedgwick  at  once  established  them 
selves  in  New  York,  and  their  house,  at  first  in  Greenwich, 
and  afterward  in  Warren  Street  (places  now  unknown  in  so 
cial  life,  and  connected  in  the  minds  of  the  rising  genera 
tion  only  with  bales  of  merchandise  or  lumbering  drays,  but 
pleasant  with  friendly  dwellings  and  cheerful  firesides  in  the 
memories  of  those  who  still  see  them  in  the  quiet  sunshine 
of  fifty  years  since),  became  a  new  centre  of  quickening  life 
and  warmth,  not  only  for  the  family,  but  for  a  large  circle  of 
friends. 


Afr.  fiofart  Seftgttiiffc  to  Miss  Sedgwick. 

"New  York,  June  11,  1817. 

****««  \ye  coui(i  learn  nothing  of  Harry  and  Jane  at 
New  Haven,  and  the  mystery  was  not  solved  till  we  found 
that  they  had  been  the  melancholy  sport  of  the  winds  from 
Wednesday  last,  when  they  embarked  from  Providence  in  a 
packet,  till  Sunday  evening."* 


Mr,  Jtobert  S&fgwick  to  Afiss 

"New  York,  July  7,  1817. 

******  I  have  just  come  from  passing  a  very  cosy  even 

ing  with  Harry  and  Jane  ;  *  *  *  *  one  which  may  reasona 

bly  confirm  our  conviction  that  we  have  rational  resources 

for  enjoyment  even  within  ourselves.  *  *  *  *  I  love  Jane 

*  This  "  voyage"  is  now  made  by  steam  in  six  or  seven  hours. 


Life  and  Letters.  105 

more  and  more  every  day.  Harry  is  indeed  much  blessed. 
Such  a  wife  as  he  has  never  can  get  out  of  fashion — that  ia 
to  say,  grow  old,  to  the  humor  of  a  sensible  man's  fancy.  She 
is  not  merely  lovely,  but  ever  active  in  goodness  ;  every  day 
exhibits,  if  not  a  new  grace,  at  least  some  more  favorable 
and  winning  form  of  one  you  knew  before." 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Mr,  Robert  Sedgwick. 

"Albany,  February  n,  1818. 

"  Here  I  am  at  last,  dear  Robert.  I  returned  with  Susan 
on  Friday  last.  She  passed  a  few  days  with  us,  and  we  went 
together  to  visit  our  good  old  uncle  John.  The  Genius  of 
the  Cornwall  Hills  arrayed  himself  in  all  his  fury  to  greet 
the  delicate  nerves  of  his  city  visitors.  Snows  and  wind 
did  greatly  prevail  against  us,  but  we  made  our  way  safely 
through  the  drifts,  and  returned  with  a  renewed  impression 
of  our  excellent  uncle's  patriarchal  wisdom  and  goodness. 
It  is  delightful  to  perform  a  duty  in  relation  to  such  a  man 
— to  throw  it  upon  such  a  soil.  I  want  very  much  to  have 
our  dear  Jane  see  uncle  before  the  effacing  hand  of  Time  has 
impaired  the  strong  features  of  his  character.  Jane  is  so 
perfectly  inartificial  herself  that  I  am  sure  she  would  admire 
such  a  noble  chef  d'osuvre  of  Nature's  canny  hand  as  Uncle 
John." 

Miss  Sedgunck  to  Mrs.  IVatson. 

11  Albany,  March  30,  1818. 

"  I  am  glad  you  receive  and  impart  so  much  pleasure  to 
*  my  friend  Mr.  Ashburner.1  I  am  sure  he  has  the  claim 
of  a  '  wayfaring  man  in  a  weary  land.'  All  the  people  here 
lumped  together  are  not  so  much  society  as  he  can  furnish 
from  his  unassisted  powers." 


106  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 


Miss  Setfgwick  to  Afr.  Robert  Sedgwick. 

"Stockbridge,  July  8,  i8ia 

"  My  clear  Robert,  I  received  your  letter  yesterday  morn 
ing  just  as  my  hands  were  immersed  in  a  pan  of  cake,  and 
all  my  faculties  employed  in  the  various  work  of  a  prepara 
tion  of  dinner  for  a  brace  of  clergymen  and  their  wives,  who 
had  just  come  in  upon  us.  You  may  imagine  it  produced 
some  confusion  of  ideas.  The  roar  of  the  cataract  of  Niag 
ara  and  the  stirring  of  a  custard ;  the  sweet  image  of  fes 
betfcs  saurs  and  the  heaven-forsaken  visage  of  my  chief 
cook  and  bottle-washer  ;  the  rush  of  thoughts  occasioned  by 
the  arrival  of  the  fair  foreigner,  and  the  sedative  of  Cousin 
Mary  White's  monotonous  looks  and  voice  ;  the  glowing  im 
age  of  Margaret ;  the  sweet,  maternal  tones  of  our  clear  Jen 
ny's  sweet  voice ;  Harry's  *  cooing  noises,'  and  the  ringing 
of  plates,  and  the  dire  clash  of  pots  and  kettles — all,  alto 
gether,  almost  unsettled  my  poor  brains." 

The  next  event  of  importance  in  the  family  record  was 
Charles's  engagement,  early  in  1819,  to  Miss  Elizabeth 
Dwight,  of  Northampton,  Massachusetts.  It  was  probably 
in  anticipation  of  this  that  Miss  Sedgwick  wrote  under 
date  of 

41  January  7,  1819. 

*  *  *  *  "Our  dear  Charles — our  youngest  brother — 
claims  a  portion  of  our  kindness,  and  deserves  it.  Our 
hearts  yearn  toward  him  as  did  Joseph's  to  his  younger 
brother,  and  we  can  join  in  that  emphatic  benediction,  *  God 
be  gracious  to  thee,  my  son.'  Oh  that  we  could  also  '  put 
the  money  in  the  sack's  mouth  I'  " 


Life  and  Letters.  107 

Mr.  Robert  Sedgwick  to  Miss  Sedguticft. 

*  March,  1819. 

*  *  *  *  "  Charles  I  Charles  !  I  have  hardly  been  able, 
since  his  exchange  of  vows,  to  think  of  any  thing  else.  It 
does  appear  to  me  that  there  has  hardly  ever  been  any  thing 
so  bright  and  soft  in  moral  beauty  as  that  which  this  union 
presents.  I  received  a  "letter  from  Charles  yesterday  ex 
pressing  the  overflowing  of  his  heart  toward  us  all.  I  do 
not  think  that  we  shall  any  of  us  lose  any  of  his  love.  Tell 
me  whether  you  feel  your  possessions  there  less  because  a 
new  dominion  is  established  ?  I  should  not  be  ashamed  of 
being  still  a  bachelor  if  I  thought  that  the  acknowledgment 
of  a  new  allegiance  would  in  the  least  degree  impoverish  the 
revenues  which  are  sacred  to  you." 


Mrs.  Jane  Sedgwick  to  Miss 
****"!  have  never  read  so  interesting  and  so  beauti 
ful  a  tale  as  Charles's  love-story.  His  passion  is  too  ten 
der,  too  elevated,  and  too  true  for  any  silly  expressions  ;  it 
has  in  it  all  that  is  exquisite  in  poetry  and  all  that  is  en 
chanting  in  reality.  There  is  a  moral  lesson  conveyed  by 
their  happiness,  for,  had  they  been  less  virtuous,  they  would 
have  been  incapable  of  such  affection." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mr.  Hobcrt  Sedgwick. 

"  Albany,  March  24,  1819. 

*  *  *  *  n  Charles  has  fixed  his  marriage  for  the  ist  of 
September,  I  believe.  I  presume  you  have  heard  from  him. 
He  seems  determined  '  to  prove  his  faith  by  his  works/  and 
I  am  so  old-fashioned  as  to  believe  that  He  who  provided 
the  offering  for  Abraham  will  take  care  of  these  two  beings 
who  have  lived  in  conformity  to  His  laws.  This  may  not 
be  orthodox,  but  I  am  very  much  given  to  such  heresies. 


io8  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

Love  certainly  does  cast  out  all  fear,  or  we  should  not  feel 
willing  to  expose  our  infirmities  to  those  we  love  best,  when 
we  conceal  tfiem  from  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  To  you 
alone,  my  dear  Robert,  would  I  confess  that  the  thought  of 
resigning  my  place  in  Charles's  heart  has  cost  me  some  bit 
ter  tears.  But  I  am  conscious  this  is  a  selfish  weakness.  I 
know  it  is  ingratitude  to  my  God — ingratitude  to  my  brother 
— whose  heart  is  expansive  enough  for  all  our  claims  upon 
its  tenderness.  The  sorrow  has  been  almost  as  transient  as 
it  was  unworthy.  I  shall  be  made  happier  by  every  event 
that  augments  the  happiness  of  my  brothers,  and  I  desire, 
with  all  humility,  to  take  the  place  they  may  appropriate  to 
me.  *****  You  may  love  another  better,  you  must  not 
love  me  less." 

The  first  paragraph  of  the  next  letter  displays  some  of  the 
homely  cares  of  a  country  housekeeper  fifty  years  ago. 

Miss  Settgwick  to  Mrs.  Watson. 

"Albany,  March  28, 1819. 

*  *  *  #  «  AS  to  the  candles,  I  think,  on  the  whole,  Maria 
had  better  make  some.  I  believe  there  is  some  cotton-wick 
in  my  closet.  If  not,  you  can  get  Tamor  to  spin  some, 
Candles  are  22  cents  per  Ib. ;  that,  with  the  additional 
charge  of  the  box  and  the  transportation,  would  make  them 

come  a  good  deal  higher  than  our  domestic  manufacture. 

*  *  *  * 

"  I  find  that  Mr.  B *  has  written  to  you.  He  de 
serves,  my  dear  sister,  and  he  needs,  all  the  tenderness  of 
your  friendship.  I  hope,  if  you  have  not  already,  you  will 
soon  write  to  him.  Say  every  thing  you  can  to  stimulate 
his  mind  to  exertion  and  activity.  If  you  were  not  a  miser^ 
able  agent  for  such  a  purpose,  I  would  beg  you  to  persuade 

*  A  rojectetl  lover  of  Misa  Sed^iviuk. 


Life  and  Letters.  109 

him  that  the  object  of  his  pursuit  was  not  worth  the  regret 
of  such  a  noble  mind  as  his.  *****  My  love  to  all  the 
dear  children  of  both  houses.  Tell  them  I  shall  answer 
their  charming  letters  by  the  first  private  conveyance.  Tell 
Mr.  Charles  that  I  have  just  sent  off  a  long  letter  to  the 
East,  to  convince  Elizabeth  that  I  have  not  forgotten  her. 
It  behooves  me  not  to  provoke  the  wrath  of  a  smart  young 
sister-in-law.  Some  kindlier  feeling  might  have  helped  to 
make  me  write.  Good-night,  my  dear  sister.  My  eyes  are 
almost  out  of  my  head,  and  my  hand  stiff.  Tell  dear  little 
Bob  and  Fan  that  I  would  fain  have  had  a  letter  from  them." 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Mr.  Robert  Sedgwick. 

44  Albany,  November  21, 1819. 

****«£  wonder  if  you  have  entirely  put  away  the 
childish  feeling  of  home-sickness.  I  fell  into  what,  in  your 
college  days,  you  used  to  call  a  reverie,  just  at  sunset  this 
evening.  I  was  awakened  from  it  by  the  lowing  of  one  of 
Rockwell's  cows  under  the  window.  For  a  moment  I 
thought  I  was  at  Stockbridge ;  and,  when  I  fairly  opened 
my  eyes,  and  saw  the  beautiful  new  moon  shining  on  these 
brick  houses,  I  could  have  cried  because  1  could  not  see  her 
silver  beams  playing  on  our  own  little  stream,  and  shining 
through  the  naked  branches  of  dear  Charles's  trees.  I 
sometimes  think  my  love  for  that  spot  is,  for  these  philo 
sophic,  enlightened  times,  too  much  like  that  of  the  savage, 
who  thinks  his  heaven  is  to  be  one  great  hunting-ground. 
There  I  have  located  my  heaven.  I  doubt  not  that  if  we 
are,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  permitted  to  attain  a  state 
of  felicity,  we  shall  look  back  with  gratitude  and  delight  to 
that  spot  where  immortal  hopes  first  expanded  our  hearts, 
where  those  frames  of  mind  and  habits  of  character  were 
formed  which  inspired  the  first  desires  for  the  love  and 
goodness  that  are  finally  to  constitute  our  happiness.  How 


no  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

shall  we  then  look  upon  that  sacred  place  which  is  now  seal 
ed  with  the  sad  signet  of  mortality,  brightened  by  the  res 
urrection  and  the  life  I  And  shall  we  then,  do  you  think, 
my  dear  brother,  be  permitted  to  rejoice  in  the  unbroken 
union  of  our  hearts  in  the  growth  of  our  immortal  existence? 
How  grateful,  how  faithful  should  we  be  to  our  Redeemer  I 
'  He  hath  brought  life  and  immortality  to  light.'  All  the 
hopes  that  sustain  and  cheer  existence  here  are  the  fruits 
of  his  love,  his  compassion,  and  his  sufferings." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  Watson,  on  the  Death  of  her  oldest  Son. 

"  New  York,  March  15,  1820. 

"  My  dear,  dear  sister,  what  shall  I  say  to  you  ?  What 
can  I  say  but  that  I  mourn  with  you  your  heavy  sorrow ! 
Oh,  my  dear  Frances,  you  know  my  heart,  and  you  know 
that  it  is  wounded  and  grieved  with  yours.  The  Holy  Spirit 
is  your  comforter,  and  let  us  acknowledge  the  ineffable  con 
solation  with  which  he  has  softened  your  calamity.  Truly 
our  God  is  a  God  of  tender  mercies,  a  compassionate  Fa 
ther  ;  and  his  compassions  were  most  manifest  in  his  deal 
ings  with  our  dear  Theodore.  My  dear  Frances,  his  spirit 
has  been  prepared  for  this  great  change,  and  who  that  knows 
the  tumult,  the  temptations,  the  miseries  of  this  world,  would 
bring  a  spirit  back  from  its  rest,  its  glory  ?  Oh,  my  dear 
sister,  I  know  how  many  hopes  have  been  cherished,  what 
strong  affections  wounded.  But  your  child  is  not  lost.  He 
has  gone  to  a  safe  and  happy  place.  Do  not  let  your 
thoughts  dwell  on  the  last  scenes  of  suffering,  on  the  tri 
umphs  of  mortality,  or,  if  still  busy,  busy  thought  will  return 
there,  think  of  them  as  subjects  of  thankfulness  and  praise  ; 
for  were  not  the  peacefulness,  the  submission,  the  patience 
of  your  dear  child  assurances  that  the  good  work  was  done 
— that  he  had  prepared  to  meet  his  God — that  the  world 
had  passed  away,  and  a  better  life  dawned  in  his  soul  ? 


Life  and  Letters.  1 1 1 

"  My  first  impulse  was  to  go  immediately  to  you,  but  our 
brothers  thought  that  you  had  all  you  could  now  derive  from 
human  aid  and  comfort,  and  that  the  difficulty  of  the  jour 
ney  would  be  such  that  I  had  better  delay  it  for  the  present. 
I  hope  to-morrow's  mail  will  bring  us  particulars  from  you. 
Do,  my  dear  sister,  if  you  can,  write  to  me.  My  love  to  Mr. 
Watson  and  the  dear  children." 

Miss  Settgwick  to  Mr.  Robert  Sedgwick. 

'*  Stockbridgc,  May  17,  1820. 

"  I  was  not  disappointed  yesterday  in  my  expectations, 
my  dearest  Robert.  Charles  came  in,  when  the  winds  howl 
ed  and  the  rains  beat  violently,  with  your  letter ;  and  its 
sweet  influences  shut  my  senses,  for  a  little  while,  on  all 
outward  things.  If  any  body  wants  to  know  the  worth  of  a 
letter,  let  them  wait  for  one  ten  days  in  the  country  in  an 
easterly  storm,  with  some  sick  and  some  sorrowful  friends, 
with  the  chain  of  their  interest  in  those  they  have  left  un 
broken,  the  influence  of  the  habit  of  seeing  them  and  of 
hearing  them  every  day  unabated,  and,  above  all,  the  habit 
of  loving  them  with  a  sort  of  dependence  that  makes  you 
careless  of  other  sources  of  happiness  and  other  means  of 
pleasure.  *  *  *  *  I  wish  you  would  give  my  best  regards 
to  Mr.  Sewall,  and  tell  him  that  I  have  had  great  success  in 
my  agency.  I  sent  for  Mr.  Bryant  last  week,  and  he  called 
to  see  me  on  his  return  from  court.  I  told  him  Mr.  Sewall 
had  commissioned  me  to  request  some  contributions  from 
him  to  a  collection  of  Hymns,  and  he  said,  without  any  hesi 
tation,  that  he  was  obliged  to  Mr.  Sewall,  and  would,  with 
great  pleasure,  comply  with  his  request.  He  has  a  charm 
ing  countenance,  and  very  modest,  but  not  bashful  manners. 
I  made  him  promise  to  come  and  see  us  shortly.  He  seem 
ed  gratified  ;  and,  if  Mr.  Sewall  has  reason  to  be  obliged  to 
me  (which  I  certainly  think  he  has),  I  am  doubly  obliged  by 


ii2  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

an  opportunity  of  securing  the  acquaintance  of  so  interest 
ing  a  man.  I  suppose  Jenny  will,  as  usual,  amuse  herself 
with  my  enterprise,  but  *  nothing  venture,  nothing  have.'  I 
mean  my  next  letter  shall  be  to  Harry,  for,  though  he  is  a 
silent  partner,  it  is  no  reason  why  he  should  not  be  spoken  to. 
"  If  there  is  any  fresh  tea  arrived,  do  send  and  charge  to 
me  6  Ibs.  That  which  I  brought  tastes  just  like  Windsor 
soap-suds." 

Mr.  Theodore  Sedgwick  to  Miss  Sedgwick. 

44  Albany,  June  6,  1820. 

******  Having  this  moment  perused  your  letter  the 
third  time,  I  could  not  help  giving  you  an  answer  to  it, 
though  there  be  nothing  in  it  interrogative.  Nor  was  it 
meant  to  be  tender,  or  sentimental,  or  learned,  but,  like  all 
your  letters,  it  is  so  sweet,  so  excellent,  so  natural,  so  much 
without  art,  and  yet  so  much  beyond  art,  that,  old,  cold,  self 
ish,  unthankful  as  I  am,  the  tears  are  in  my  eyes,  and  I 
thank  my  God  that  I  have  such  a  sister.11 

Mr.  Robert  Sedgivick  to  Miss  Sedgwick. 

44  New  York,  September  26,  1820, 
*  *  *  *  «  jt  js  we|j  t|iat  it  is  not  jn  the  nature  of  things 

that  those  joys  which  seem  to  have  taken  up  their  most 
blessed  abode  at  Stockbridge  should  provoke  envy.  If  it 
were  possible,  I  should  be  afraid  of  the  contrast  between  my 
rueful  countenance  at  breakfast  and  its  rueful  respondent  in 
the  looking-glass,  and  the  group  of  faces  which  I  can  see 
gathered  round  the  goodly  board  in  the  east  room,  or  draw 
ing  up  to  the  evening  fire.  Oh,  what  is  good,  if  it  be  not 
to  dwell  upon  all  we  have  loved,  and  to  cherish  all  we  still 
love,  in  that,  to  me,  sacred  mansion  1  I  had,  on  Sunday,  a 
charming  letter  from  dear  Jenny* — what  a  pearl  she  is  1" 

*  Mrs.  Marry  Seclgwick. 


Life  and  Letters.  113 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  Frank  Channing. 

"Albany,  August  10, 1820. 

*  *  *  *  "Our  letters  have  as  few  circumstances  as  lovers', 
and  therefore  there  is  no  need  of  a  business-like,  vulgar  ref 
erence  to  your  last  in  order  to  reply  to  it.  T/iat  is  at  Stock- 
bridge,  but  its  record,  as  well  as  that  of  every  other  kindness 
you  have  done  me,  is  on  my  heart.  You  know  enough  of 
my  sister  Susan  to  believe  that  I  have  not  renounced,  with 
out  a  '  hope  to  be  forgiven,'  the  charms  of  the  country  at 
this  beautiful  season  for  her  society ;  and  if,  as  the  best  phi 
losophy  teaches,  the  happiness  we  derive  from  the  beauty  of 
Nature  is  from  its  bearing  the  signs  of  intelligence,  and  thus 
appealing  to  our  moral  and  intellectual  principles,  why 
should  we  place  the  '  pomp  of  groves  and  garniture  of  field' 
in  competition  with*  the  most  perfect  image  of  the  Creator. 
I  certainly  do  not ;  and,  though  I  love  our  green  meadows, 
and  morning  melody,  and  setting  sun,  and  the  sacred  even 
ing  stillness,  and  the  '  holy  peace  of  the  broad  expanse,'  and 
all  the  sweetnesses  and  liberty  of  the  country,  I  am  willing  to 
leave  them  all  for  those  I  love.  I  can  not  wonder  at  your 
regret  at  leaving  the  country.  My  happiest  days  have  been 
spent  there,  and  I  am  still  so  spell-bound  by  its  charms  that 
I  often  forget  that  the  stream  of  time  has  carried  me  far  be 
yond  the  period  of  justifiable  romance,  as  questionable  a 
term,  probably,  in  the  ears  of  the  Rationalists  as  'justifiable 
homicide'  would  be  in  those  of  a  literal  Quaker.  This  city 
is  perfectly  thronged  with  travelers  to  and  from  the  Springs. 
Saratoga  was  never  so  full  or  so  fashionable.  The  North 
and  the  South  have  given  up,  and  the  East  and  the  West 
have  not  kept  back.  There  are  rival  belles  of  all  degrees, 
kinds,  and  colors,  from  our  fair  Northern  beauties  to  the 
questionable  hues  of  the  West  Indies.  Wealth,  you  know, 
is  the  grand  leveling  principle,  and  every  body  nowadays 


ii4  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

understands  the  philosophy  of  colors  too  well  to  give  in  to 
a  vulgar  prejudice  against  a  dark  complexion.  *****£ 
am  catholic  enough  to  be  very  much  gratified  to  hear  of  the 
growing  prosperity  of  your  mission  in  New  York.  I  hope 
this  little  Church  may  prove  a  burning  and  a  shining  light, 
and  live  to  have  its  claims  acknowledged  by  those  whose  ig 
norance  I  hope,  more  than  their  malice,  leads  them  to  opr 
pose  it."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  SafgwUk  to  Mrs.  Charles  Sedgwick,  at  Stockbridge. 

"  Albany,  November  19,  i8ao. 

"  I  hoped  before  this,  my  dear  Elizabeth,  to  have  had  a 
letter  to  answer  from  you ;  but,  if  I  accuse  you  of  negli 
gence,  you  will  interpose  your  baby  for  a  shield,  and  then  I 
can  not  strike.  She  is  a  little  usurper  ;  but  it  is  always  the 
luck  of  usurpers  to  be  treated  with  more  deference  than  the 
legitimates.  The  line  I  received  from  Charles  on  Friday 
was  a  good  deal  better  than  nothing,  though  somewhat  to 
my  hungry  appetite  like  the  mustard  without  beef  that  Pe- 
truchio  tendered  to  poor  Kate.  When  you  write,  dear  Eliz 
abeth,  do  tell  me  how  he  is — whether  he  is  recovering  his  col 
or,  his  flesh,  and  his  hardiness.  I  shall  not  indulge  the  ab 
surd  hope  of  getting  any  information  from  him  on  these  top 
ics  ;  and  let  me  know,  my  dear  sister,  every  particular  of  all 
your  healths  and  happiness  ;  your  smallest  pleasures  will  in 
terest  me  more  than  the  gayest  scenes  I  can  mingle  in,  and 
are,  indeed,  in  comparison  to  them,  what  the  household  gods 
were  to  the  statues  of  the  temple.  *  *  *  *  J  have  been 
almost  incessantly  occupied  since  I  have  been  here,  and  I 
can  scarcely  think  of  a  thing  I  have  done.  Oh  yes  1  I  have 
been  to  one  very  smart  party  at  the  Governor's,  where  I  saw 
nothing,  my  dear  Elizabeth,  half  so  enviable  as  a  seat  by 
y  3ur  stove,  with  your  cheerful  face  on  one  side  of  me,  and 
y  3tir  mother  on  the  other,  trotting  her  little  pet  nursling,  and 


and  JLettcrs.  '  115 

Charles  (for  he  must  be  in  every  happy  grouping — to  me) 
hovering  somewhere  about,  I  care  not  where,  if  he  is  not  flat 
on  his  back — ////  pauvre  rhcumatiqitc — and  Kate*  just  com 
ing  in -from  school,  and  the  cradle,  and  the  little  horse,  and 
'  all  appliances  and  means1  appertaining  to  a  nursery.  How 
ever,  you  may  like  ihe  vision  of  my  eyes  better  than  that  of 
my  imagination,  and  therefore  I  will  present  to  you  the  JLady 
Governess — a  lady  of  dignified,  youthful  presence  (youthful 
for  forty),  dressed  in  white  poplin,  receiving  her  guests  gra 
ciously,  with  a  mouth  the  corners  of  which  incline  a  little 
upward,  as  if  her  sarcasms  would  where  her  courtesies  must. 
The  Governor,  looking  somewhat  as  a  lion  does  when  his 
keeper  beats  him  into  good  nature — poor  man,  quite  as 
thoroughly  convinced  that  '  all  is  vanity'  as  ever  Solomon 
was.  If  you  fill  up  the  picture  with  all  the  fashion  and  gay- 
ety  Albany  can  furnish — several  pretty  girls,  one  or  two  old 
and  half  a  dozen  young  dandies,  one  figurante  from  New 
York,  dancing  and  music,  very  little  good  cheer,  and  plenty 
of  nothing  but  ice-cream,  you  will  have  all  that  I  remember, 
to  which  I  had  no  thought  of  devoting  two  lines  in  this  hasty 
letter." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs,  Channing^  in  reference  to  the  Unita- 
ritw  Church  in  JVtiv  York. 

"  New  York,  February  19,  iSss. 

*  *  *  «  «  Great  events  have  occurred  among  your  people 
in  this  place  of  their  captivity  since  our  last  communication. 

Lucy  R has  no  doubt  given  you  the  particulars.     As 

she  has  *  sown  in  tears/  she  is  now  one  of  the  most  joyful 
of  all  the  reapers  in  this  portion  of  the  vineyard.  'The 
sparrow  hath  found  a  nest,1  and  sings  as  sweetly  as  if  she 
were  perched  on  her  native  boughs.  I  am  a  little  surprised 
that  your  good  people  of  Boston  do  not  feel  more  interest  in 
*  Miss  Scclgwick's  niece,  Catharine  Watson. 


1 1 6  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgivick. 

this  scion  from  their  stock,  and  you  will  not  impute  to  me 
prejudice  or  bigotry  if  I  venture  to  say  to  you  that  their  in 
difference  seems  to  me  to  indicate  a  want  of  that  zeal  which 
should  always  be  the  fruit  and  aid  of  a  good  cause.  De- 
votedness  to  religion  can  not  be  abstracted  from  that  mode 
of  it  which  we  believe  true  and  best.  While  those  of  the 
orthodox  faith  are  traversing  sea  and  land,  forsaking  breth 
ren  and  sisters,  and  houses  and  lands,  and  penetrating  the 
untrodden  wilderness,  those  of  a  '  purer  and  more  rational 
faith*  seem  neither  to  lift  their  hands  or  breathe  their  pray 
ers  for  its  propagation.  Now,  my  dear  Mrs.  Channing,  I 
confess  this  lukewarmness  is  a  stumbling-block  to  me,  and, 
if  you  can  remove  it,  you  will  (if  my  vision  is  not  in  fault) 
remove  a  blot  from  your  escutcheon.  I  go  very  often  to 
the  chapel,  but  as  Lucy  says  she  shall  cease  to  admire  my 
candor  if  I  become  a  convert,  I  shall  probably  remain  as  I 
am — a  borderer.  *  *  *  * 

"  I  hope  you  have  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  un 
rivaled  Kean.  Do  not  fail  to  see  Lear.  It  is  by  far  his 
greatest  character.  I  can  not  conceive  that  any  dramatic 
representation  should  excel  it."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  Channing. 

••  New  York,  March  12,  1821. 

"  DEAR  MRS.  CHANNING, — Never  doubt  that  that  is  a 
'  spirit  from  heaven'  which  says  to  you, '  Write,1  when  I  am 
to  be  the  subject  benefited  by  the  inspiration.  I  felt,  when 
I  read  your  letter,  as  if  it  was  still  warm  with  the  glow  that 
had  sent  you  to  your  pen,  and  I  read  it  with  the  same  eager 
ness  with  which  I  should  have  drank  in  your  words  if  my 
eye  had  met  the  eloquent  beam  of  yours.  My  dear  friend, 
has  any  presumptuous  creature  of  this  doubting  generation 
ever  suspected  your  zeal  ?  I  should  as  soon  suspect  the 
sun  of  counterfeiting  light  as  to  dream  you  were  lukewarm 


Life  atid  Letters.  117 

in  any  thing.  No,  my  dear  Mrs.  Channing,  it  is  not  your 
ardor,  nor  your  brother's  and  Mr.  Ware's  devotion  and  fidel 
ity  that  I  doubt,  but  it  is  a  general  indifferency,  which  I  hear 
complained  of  by  your  own  friends.  I  thank  you  for  open 
ing  your  fold  to  me,  though  I  yet  remain  within  the  strait 
ened  inclosures  of  orthodoxy,  or  even  should  choose  to  wan 
der  in  open  pastures.  However,  as  hopes  are  not  the  easi 
est  mode  of  conveying  facts,  I  will  say  to  you,  in  all  plain 
ness,  that  I  have  not  yet  made  up  my  mind  to  adopt  the  new 
faith.  I  think  you  are  nearer  the  truth,  by  a  very  great  deal, 
than  the  orthodox,  and  yet  there  are  some  of  your  articles 
of  unbelief  \\\o&  I  am  not  Protestant  enough  to  subscribe  to. 
I  have  many  dear  friends,  who  never  will  change  their  opin 
ions,  who  would  be  shocked  and  deeply  wounded  by  what 
they  would  consider  my  apostasy.  My  own  family  are  all 
joined  with,  or  approximating  to  you,  and  they  are  all* suffi 
ciently  enlightened,  rational,  and  liberal  not  to  condemn 
those  views  of  religion  which  they  know  are  directed  and 
controlled  by  a  supreme  reverence  for  God,  and  a  sincere 
and  zealous  love  of  that  truth  which  He  has  revealed  in  the 
Bible.  If  the  new  Church  had  such  a  pastor  as  your  broth 
er  or  Mr.  Ware,  I  should  not  hesitate,  for  I  should  think  the 
benefit  I  might  derive  from  them  would  outweigh  every  oth 
er  consideration.  My  dear  Mrs.  Channing,  I  could  write  a 
letter  full  on  this  subject,  for  it  interests  me  more  than  any 
other  at  present,  but  I  dislike  to  talk  so  much  about  myself 
in  a  way  to  show  that  I  think  my  own  views  and  plans  of 
great  importance.  To  you  I  have  said  more  than  to  any 
one  else,  and,  if  I  have  seemed  egotistic,  you  must  take  some 
of  the  blame  for  the  confidence  you  inspire,  and  set  the  rest 
down  to  the  subject,  which  certainly  transcends  all  others  in 
interest.  I  fear  I  shall  not  see  Boston  this  spring,  though  I 
know  not  how  I  shall  have  philosophy  to  resist  Mary's  kind 
invitation,  with  the  sweet  enforcements  that  accompany  it. 


n8  JLife  of  Catharine  M.  Setigwicfc. 

Robert  and  I  intend  going  to  Niagara  in  July.  My  sister, 
Mrs.  Pomeroy,  and  Charles  are  to  be  here  on  a  visit  this 
spring,  so  that  my  time  will  be  all  occupied.  *  *  *  * 

"  We  have  just  laid  our  hands  on  '  Kenilworth.'  I  sa 
luted  it  with  as  much  enthusiasm  as  a  Catholic  would  a 
holy  relic.  It  is  now  lying  beside  me,  looking  so  fresh  and 
tempting  that  I  think  I  deserve  some  credit  for  having  re 
sisted  it  thus  far."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  S&lgwick  to  Mrs.  Watson. 

"New  York,  April,  1821. 

"  You  hint,  my  dear  sister,  at  some  temptation  to  which 
you  think  me  particularly  liable.  I  hope  I  am  not  so  blinded 
by  self-love  as  to  be  incapable  of  discerning  a  fault  when 
pointed  out  to  me,  or  so  selfish  and  ungrateful  as  not  to  turn 
from'a  precipice  because  I  did  not  first  see  it.  I  know  it  is 
much  more  agreeable  to  profess  a  general  humility  than  to 
own  a  particular  fault.  After  all  this,  you  may  think  it  very 
inconsistent  for  me  to  declare  myself  unconscious  of  the 
danger  to  which  you  allude.  I  am,  it  is  true,  in  a  city  where 
Fashion  maintains  her  empire,  and  has  her  willing  and  un 
willing  subjects,  but  if  I  was  with  you  in  your  house,  or  with 
Charles  in  his  blessed  retreat,  I  should  not  be  more  inde 
pendent  of  fashion  than  I  am  now.  We  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  fashionable  gayeties  of  the  city.  Our  visiting  is  all 
of  a  familiar  and  domestic  kind,  and  there  is,  of  necessity,  a 
good  deal  of  time  run  away  with  where  you  have  a  large  cir 
cle  of  acquaintance  and  must  be  accessible  to  all,  yet  I 
think  we  lead,  as  far  as  can  be  under  such  circumstances, 
rational  and  domestic  lives.  The  situation  of  our  family 
this  year  has,  of  course,  kept  me  at  home,  and,  with  two  or 
three  exceptions,  I  have  not  been  out  of  the  circle  of  our  in 
timate  friends.  I  have  been  a  few  times  to  see  Kean — not, 
my  dear  sister,  in  conformity  to  fashion,  for  nothing  is  more 


Life  and  Letters.  119 

unfashionable  in  New  York  than  the  theatre.  I  have  not 
had  the  satisfaction  I  should  have  had  from  his  wonderful 
exhibition  if  I  had  been  sure  that  this  was  a  right  indul 
gence.  If  I  had  been  sure  it  was  wrong,  I  think  I  should 
not  have  been  tempted  to  go.  Perhaps  I  am  'fighting  the 
air,'  but,  my  dear  sister,  I  think  it  is  much  better  to  speak 
plain, '  to  speak  the  truth  in  love,'  than  to  have  any  timidity 
in  relation  to  subjects  of  such  importance.  Our  heaviest 
burden  is  sin,  and  those  who  attempt  to  lighten  it  for  us  cer 
tainly  most  efficiently  obey  that  injunction  which  says,  *  Bear 
ye  one  another's  burdens.' 

"  I  presume  you  saw  the  letter  I  wrote  Susan,  in  which  I 
said  that  I  did  not  think  I  should  go  to  Dr.  Mason's  Church 
again.  I  have  not  been  since.  This  has  been  a  subject  of 
continual  anxiety  and  pain  to  me.  I  have  done  nothing 
rashly,  nor  without  an  anxious  consideration  of  what  was  my 
duty.  You  knt>w,  my  dear  Frances,  that  I  never  adopted 
some  of  the  articles  of  the  creed  of  that  Church,  and  some 
of  those  upon  which  the  doctor  is  most  fond  of  expatiating, 
and  which  appear  to  me  both  unscriptural  and  very  unprofit 
able,  and,  I  think,  very  demoralizing.  On  some  important 
points  I  think  the  doctor  is  all  wrong.  Still,  it  was  so  pain 
ful  to  me  to  give  up  the  privilege  and  happiness  of  church- 
membership,  that,  until  I  thought  it  became  an  imperative 
duty  to  leave  it,  I  remained  one  of  that  congregation.  My 
example  is  hardly  any  thing  in  this  city,  but,  as  far  as  it 
goes,  I  thought  myself  bound  not  to  lend  its  sanction  to 
what  seems  to  me  a  gross  violation  of  the  religion  of  the 
Redeemer,  and  an  insult  to  a  large  body  of  Christians  enti 
tled  to  respect  and  affection.  I  have  not  become  a  member 
of  the  Unitarian  Society,  though  I  think  I  should  if  they  had 
such  a  clergyman  as  Mr.  Channing  or  Henry  Ware — I  mean 
like  them  in  their  religious  sentiments.  I  hope  and  believe, 
my  dear  sister,  that  you  will  not  disapprove  my  conduct ;  if 


X2o  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

you  do,  tell  me  so  frankly.  I  know  I  have  risked  much  and 
lost  much,  for  I  have  many  friends  whose  confidence  and 
affection  constitute  a  large  portion  of  my  happiness,  who 
have  not  liberality  enough  to  think  there  is  any  religion  be 
yond  the  pale  of  orthodoxy.  I  do  not  know  but  I  shall  be 
debarred  communion  with  the  orthodox  churches,  but,  if  so, 
I  must  try,  and  I  shall,  with  the  blessing  of  God,  bear  the 
privation  with  meekness,  trusting  that  He  who  is  my  hope 
and  my  Savior  will  own  me  as  His  disciple.  Any  thing  is 
better  than  insincerity,  than  feeling  ourselves  obliged,  from 
prudence,  to  conceal  our  sentiments.  Such  a  prudence  bor 
ders  too  closely  on  hypocrisy." 

Miss  Set/givick  to  her  brother  Robert. 

"  Stockbridge,  June  2, 1821. 

*  *  *  *  uj  admire,  dear  Robert,  the  admirable  adroitness 
with  which  you  insinuate  your  grief  at  my  departure.  I  know 
too  well  the  theoiy  and  experience  of  an  agreeable  succes 
sion  of  ideas  to  flatter  myself  that  my  memory  (all  that  was 
painful  in  it)  did  not  pass  away  as  rapidly  as  the  shadow  of 
the  clouds  before  the  bright  sun  of  that  crowd  and  caravan 
of  Bostonians.  Even  '  Temps  le  Consolateur'  will  not  get  a 
monument  this  time.  I  am  not  so  selfish  as  you  may  think. 
I  care  not  how  much  those  who  are  as  my  own  soul  value 
my  presence,  but  I  do  not  desire  they  should  mourn  my  ab 
sence.  Life  is  quite  too  short  for  useless  regrets.  Our  pres 
ent  duties  need  all  the  life  they  can  get  from  the  leaven  of 
cheerfulness.  *****!  have  been  trying  for  two  days  to 
answer  Mr.  Channing's  letter,  but  I  can  not  make  out  any 
thing  that  satisfies  me  at  all.  I  know  this  is  very  foolish  for 
a  grown-up  woman,  and  one  that  has  been  grown  up  so  long, 
too,  but  I  am  quite  incapable  of  the  courage  necessary  for 
such  an  undertaking.  But  I  shall  write,  if  I  don't  make  out 
better  than  poor  Jeanie  Deans  did  in  her  literary  efforts.  I 


Life  and  Letters,  121 

had  rather  submit  to  any  intellectual  degradation,  in  Mr. 
Channing's  opinion,  than^to  have  him  think  me  insensible 
to  his  great  kindness.  *****!  went  to  the  school  the 
other  day  to  hear  the  boys  speak  off  Demosthenes  and  Cic 
ero,  and  I  was  quite  amused,  for  I  had  almost  forgotten  to 
what  seeming  torture  the  human  body  can  be  put  without 
stretching  it  on  the  rack.  *  *  *  *  Charles  is  constantly  at 
Lenox,  and  seldom  comes  home  at  night.  I  have  remon 
strated  with  him,  as  Hall  is  retained  on  very  high  wages  till 
the  Fall.  But  he  says  there  is  a  great  deal  of  business  be 
hindhand,  which  has  been  laid  aside.  Oh,  my  dear  Robert, 
this  place  is  dreadfully  changed  without  him.  I  have  never 
felt  so  oppressed  by  the  changes  in  our  family.  The  house 
is  so  still  and  solitary.  My  imagination  is  continually  filled 
with  those  looks  and  voices  that  animated  every  part  of  tr^ 
house  —  that  beamed  with  Jove  and  rung  with  joy.  Elizabeth 
is  very  pleasant  and  kind,  and  the  baby  a  sweet  little  creat 
ure,  but  those  beloved  ones  whose  hearts  responded  to  mine 
as  'face  answcreth  to  face  in  the  water*  are  all  gone,  or  far 
away.  This  is  not  right  —  a  single  repining  thought  is  base 
ingratitude  —  they  arc  unbidden  and  unwelcome  guests,  but 
they  will  come.  The  country  is  perfectly  beautiful.  *  Na 
ture's  universal  robe'  was  never  more  enchanting." 


Miss  Si'dgwicfc  to  Afrs.  Channing. 

"  Stockbriclgc,  June  4,  182  1. 

"My  DEAR  MRS.  CHANNING,  —  I  left  on  my  table  at  New 
York  an  unfinished  letter  to  you,  which  should,  and  would 
have  convinced  you  that  I  felt  my  debt  to  you.  At  Albany 
I  received  the  kind  letter  which  destined  me  the  pleasure 
of  an  introduction  to  your  cpusin,  Miss  Cabot.  I  knew  she 
was  to  be  in  New  York  with  your  brother,  and,  I  assure 
you,  it  required  all  the  effort  I  am  capable  of  '  in  patience 
to  possess  my  soul*  under  such  a  host  of  disappointments. 

L 


123  Life  of  Catharine  JW.  ScdgwUk. 

The  loss  of  Dr.  Channing's  society  has  been  in  some  degree 
compensated  to  me  by  a  letter  from  him,  as  kind  as  unex 
pected.  I  shall  always  preserve  it  among  a  few  sacred  doc 
uments  that  I  possess,  which  have  power  to  refresh  the 
drooping  spirit,  and  stimulate  a  languid  piety.  You  would 
have  laughed  at  me  if  you  had  seen  with  what  fear  and  trem 
bling  I  accomplished  a  reply,  with  all  the  'contortions  of  the 
sibyl,1  but,  alas  1  without  the  inspiration.  Ease  is  absolute 
ly  necessary  to  writing  letters  with  any  success.  If  there  is 
any  thing  that  pervades  my  whole  character,  it  is  a  love  of 
freedom  that '  leaveneth  the  whole  lump.'  When  I  had  ac 
complished  the  mighty  labor,  I  could  have  cried  over  it — a 
stupid  composition,  very  like  the  first  awkward  attempts  of 
a  boarding-school  girl  of 'pretty  talents.'  My  mortification 
did  not  all  result  from  wounded  pride,  but  I  am  afraid  your 
brother,  if  his  goodness  does  not  avert  such  an  opinion,  will 
think  me  very  impertinent  to  occupy  his  time  with  a  long 
letter,  when  a  simple  acknowledgment  would  have  been 
enough.  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Channing  these  troubles  must 
be  quite  uninteresting  to  you.  I  have  had  nobody  to  pour 
out  my  heart  to  before.  Those  who  inspire  confidence  must 
sometimes  feel  the  pain  of  sympathy.  My  letters  from  New 
York  do  not  in  the  least  console  me  for  my  loss  of  Miss 
Cabot's  acquaintance.  She  has  captivated  all  my  friends 
there.  I  try  to  feel  a  benevolent  pleasure  in  the  happiness 
they  have  enjoyed,  and  to  trust  that  I  shall  participate  it,  at 
some  period  of  my  existence,  in  this  world  or  a  better.  I 
look  forward  to  forming  a  great  many  agreeable  acquaint 
ances  when  there  shall  be  no  such  material  obstructions  as 
intervening  mountains,  and  we  shall  no  longer  be  closed  in 
by  the  limited  operation  of  our  present  organs— when  there 
shall  be  a  perfect  community  of  light,  and  joy,  and  feeling, 
for  nil  of  one  heart  and  one  mind.  I  was  not  aware,  until  I 
received  your  letter,  how  strong  my  hope  had  been  that  you 


Life  and  Letters.  1 23 

would  join  our  Canada  party.  I  do  not  doubt  that  you  have 
decided  righteously,  but  I  have  been  almost  tempted  to  wish 
that  your  conscience  was  not  quite  so  enlightened.  I  can 
not  imagine  any  thing  that  could  be  so  delightful  as  to  have 
you  with  us.  I  would  not,  even  to  accomplish  so  good  an 
end,  taint  your  morals  with  Jesuitry,  but,  in  the  technics  of 
this  region,  I  do  wish  you  could  '  see  it  to  be  your  duty*  to 
confer  so  much  pleasure,  and  to  recruit,  with  new  and  chang 
ing  scenes,  your  own  health  and  spirits.  The  country  is  as 
beautiful  as  Eden  could  have  been  when  all  was  pronounced 
good.  Youth  is  always  beautiful,  and  Nature  now  is  a  per 
fect  emblem  of  the  morning  of  life,  so  bright  and  unspotted, 
so  full  of  hope  and  promise.  My  dear  brother  Charles  has 
entered  upon  the  duties  of  an  office  which,  for  the  most  part, 
confines  him  at  Lenox,  six  miles  from  us.  This  is  a  sad 
privation  to  us.  There  is  a  sunny  influence  in  his  presence  ; 
like  the  light  of  heaven,  he  brightens  every  object  around 
him.  He  is  felt  in  all.  The  emolument  of  his  office,  though 
small,  is  very  necessary  to  him,  and  I  try  to  be  thankful  and 
satisfied.  My  cousin,  Henry  Dwight,  will  carry  this  letter 
to  you,  and,  though  I  do  not  deserve  it,  I  hope  (it  is  not  un 
common  for  our  hopes  to  outstrip  our  deserts)  he  will  bring 
me  one  in  return." 

JVf  r.  Charles  Sedgwick  brought  his  wife,  on  their  marriage, 
to  the  old  Stockbridge  home,  where  they  lived  for  two  years, 
when  his  business  relations  with  the  neighboring  town  of 
Lenox  became  so  close  that  he  found  it  necessary  to  make 
it  his  residence.  This  was  a  bitter  grief  to  his  sister  ;  and 
to  explain,  in  some  degree,  a  distress  which,  in  the  present 
easy  connection  of  the  two  villages,  might  appear  unreason 
able,  it  must  be  remembered  that  Lenox  was  then  a  bare 
and  ugly  little  village,  perched  upon  a  desolate  hill,  at  the 
end  of  six  miles1  rough  and  steep  driving.  It  is  true,  the 


124        '  -Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

natural  beauty  which  has  since  assisted  in  giving  it  celeb 
rity  existed  then  ;  but  we  all  know  how  much  habit,  associa 
tion,  and  cultivation  do  in  enhancing  natural  beauty,  and 
making  it  precious  to  us,  and,  to  a  native  and  lover  of  the 
rich  valley  of  Stockbridge,  with  its  soft  and  graceful  varia 
tions  of  meadow  and  wood,  its  gentle  river,  and  its  shelter 
ing  mountains,  and  the  appearance  of  refinement  even  then 
given  to  its  dwellings,  Lenox  must  have  seemed  dismally 
bleak  and  uncouth.  Besides,  Miss  Sedgwick's  affections 
were  so  gathered  about  her  paternal  home,  that  life  in  any 
other  spot  in  the  country  would  have  seemed  to  her  like 
exile  and  banishment ;  but  she  may  have  smiled  in  after 
years,  when  her  prediction  was  fulfilled,  and  Lenox  /tad  be 
come,  next  to  Stockbridge,  "  the  dearest  spot  on  all  this 
earth"  to  her,  at  the  unmitigated  repulsion  with  which  she 
at  first  contemplated  it 

Jlfiss  Scdgivick  to  far  brother  Charles,  on  the  occasion  of  his 

proposing  to  remove  permanently  to  Lenox. 
"  MY  DEAREST  CHARLES, — I  need  not  tell  you,  for  you 
know  already,  how  I  feel  the  contemplated  change.  Your 
presence  here  has  been  to  me  like  the  spirits  of  our  parents, 
and  it  never  seems  home  to  me  when  you  arc  gone.  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  with  some  composure  to  your  residence 
at  Lenox  for  three  years,  but  the  thought  of  your  living  thoae 
permanently  is  like  dissolution  to  me.  Still  I  know,  my 
clear  Charles,  all  evils  arc  worse  in  the  anticipation  than  the 
reality,  and  ^"it  is  best  that  you  should  go,  I  will  do  what  I 
can  to  be  resigned — to  be  cheerful.  Wherever  you  are  I 
must  have  a  home,  and  Lenox  must  be  to  me,  when  you  and 
yours  are  there,  the  dearest  spot  on  all  this  earth." 

This    removal    involved   other   changes.      Mr.  Theodore 
Sedgwick  henceforth  took  possession  of  the  family  mansion, 


Life  and  Letters.  125 

which  has  ever  since  been  delightfully  associated  with  his 
name  and  that  of  his  admirable  and  lovely  wife.  His  sis 
ter's  summers  were  for  many  years  passed  with  him  under 
the  roof  so  dear  to  her,  and  her  winters  with  one  of  her  broth 
ers  in  New  York;  for  Robert's  marriage  in  1822  gave  her  a 
second  home  in  town. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  summer  of  1821,  she  made  an  excur 
sion  to  Niagara  and  Canada  with  her  brother  Robert,  Mr. 

and  Mrs.  Theodore  and  their   son,  and  Mrs.  B .     The 

following  extracts  are  from  the  full  journal  she  kept  for  the 
sake  of  her  friends  at  home,  and  are  charmingly  character 
istic  : 

"  Palatine,  52  miles  from  Albany,  June  22, 1821. 

"Mv  DEAREST  JEANIE, — This  day  we  have  begun  the 
'grand  tour/  Is  it  not  a  singular  coincidence,  considering 
the  uncontrollable  nature  of  human  affairs,  that  we  should 
have  commenced  the  undertaking  on  the  very  day  Robert 
appointed  last  year?  We  were  drinking  tea  together  last 
August  (1820)  at  Sister  Susan's.  A  jaunt  to  Niagara  was 
discussed,  and  R.  concluded  the  talk  by  saying, 'Well, Kitty, 
at  any  rate,  you  and  I  will  start  the  2oth  of  next  June.'  He 
left  New  York  on  the  2oth.  Many  a  man's  reputation  for 
prophecy  has  been  established  upon  a  less  striking  verifica 
tion  than  this.  My  conscience  did  not  need  *  jogging, '  for 
the  intention  of  communicating  my  pleasures  to  you  and 
Harry  as  I  went  along  has  constantly  been  one  of  my  most 
delightful  anticipations.  I  have  been  so  long  in  the  habit 
of  sharing  all  my  booty  with  you,  that  now,  when  I  expect 
so  rich  a  spoil,  do  you  think  I  will  deprive  myself  of  his  be 
atitude  who  giveth  ?  It  would  be  a  shame  to  keep  any  so 
cial  pleasure  from  Harry,  who  never  yet  had  a  solitary  en 
joyment.  We  left  Albany  this  morning  all  well  and  in  fine 
glee.  We  have  engaged  extra  post-coaches  to  go  as  far  as 
Utica  at  the  very  moderate  price  of  $30.  A  fairer  day 


126  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

never  invited  to  '  Nature's  high  festival.'  You  must  remem 
ber  the  ride  on  the  borders  of  the  Mohawk.  I  do  not  care, 
as  our  friend  E.  C.  says,  to  '  harangue  about  scenery,'  but, 
dear  Jane,  it  would  be  treason  against  nature  if  the  heart 
did  not  dilate  at  the  sight  of  this  beautiful  stream,  as  full, 
from  the  late  rains,  as  the  'brimful  Clyde,'  reflecting  the 
verdant  banks,  the  overhanging  trees,  the  richly  wooded 
hills,  and  the  clear  heavens.  *  *  *  * 

"  While  our  breakfast  was  preparing  at  Schencctady,  we 
walked  through  its  dirty  streets  to  the  high  ground  which 
Dr.  Nott  has  tastefully  selected  for  his  university.  His  pu 
pils  might  learn  some  lessons  in  theology  from  the  fair  vol 
ume  of  Nature  open  before  them  that  should  soften  the  in 
fluence  of  some  of  the  severest  dogmas  of  the  strictest  sys 
tems.  We  saw  all  along  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river  a 
multitude  of  men  at  work  on  the  canal.  We  are  told  more 
than  one  thousand  are  between  this  place  and  Albany.  *  *  * 

"Utica,  24/tf. — Here  we  arrived  last  evening,  after  a  day 
of  pleasure,  mingled  with  a  little  vexation — enough  to  se 
cure  us  from  the  insipidity  of  a  draught  of  uniform  sweet 
ness.  In  the  morning,  at  Palatine,  our  driver,  offended  at 
our  having  selected  a  house  he  did  not  patronize,  and,  like 
his  betters,  choosing  to  use  his  'little  brief  authority'  in  tyr 
anny,  did  not  come  for  us  till  6  o'clock.  This  worried  brother 
T.,  who,  you  know,  does  not  like  to  be  imposed  on,  and  he 
gave  the  fellow  quite  an  edifying  lecture  upon  the  natural 
rights  of  man.  We,  at  least,  were  touched  with  its  justice, 
and  the  man,  if  he  did  not  repent  of  the  wrong  he  had  done 
us,  was  mortified  at  it.  *  *  *  * 

"  The  canal,  when  completed,  must  be  one  of  the  most 
stupendous  monuments  of  the  enterprise,  industry,  resolu 
tion,  and  art  of  man.  The  scenery  was  enchanting,  and,  in 
spite  of  a  melting  sun,  we  all  agreed  to  wipe  out  '  n*  scores1 
with  Fortune  thus  far.  We  went  also  to  see  the  little  canal, 


Life  and  Letters.  127 

which  was  made  here  more  than  twenty  years  since.  During 
the  operation  of  a  boat's  passage  through  the  locks,  which 
happened  just  at  the  moment  we  arrived  at  them,  a  poor 
blackey  fell  from  the  bank  into  the  water;  he  was  not  hurt, 
and  his  accident  produced  a  burst  of  merriment  from  the 
vulgar  fellows  about  him.  *  You  ain't  white  yet  I1  said  they, 
as  the  poor  fellow  shook  the  water  from  his  woolly  head. 
How  hard  it  is  to  belong  to  a  degraded  caste — to  be  born  to 
the  inheritance  of  jibes  and  jokes  1  My  interest  in  this 
place  was  doubled  by  the  recollections  associated  with  it. 
At  my  first  emancipation  from  childhood,  I  had  visited  it 
with  my  beloved  father.  I  recollected  with  gratitude  the 
patience  and  interest  with  which  he  explained  to  me  the 
construction  and  operation  of  the  locks.  *  *  *  * 

"(P.S.  by  R.,  preserved,  not  for  its  justice,  but  its  char 
acteristic  humor.) — *I  crowed  1*  said  a  scene-shifter, '  when 
Garrick  played  Hamlet ;'  and  '  I  rung  the  bell !'  said  another 
of  the  children  of  humble  ambition, '  when  Whitfieicl  preach 
ed  ;'  and  I,  says  I,  put  a  P.S.  to  Kit's  letter,  and  thus,  as  it 
were,  ride  on  a  pillion,  on  her  Pegasus,  to  immortality,  etc. 


*  *  #  * 


44  Brutus,  on  the  Canal,  85  miles  from  Utica,  Tuesday,  26th. 
"The  boat  is  drawn  by  two  fine  horses:  the  hindermost 
has  a  rider.  They  go  on  a  very  fast  walk,  at  the  rate  of  four 
miles  an  hour,  including  stops,  which  recur  every  eignt  miles. 
The  canal  is  forty  feet  wide  and  four  deep.  We  passed  six 
locks  during  the  night,  and  we  all  joyfully  left  our  hot  little 
cabin,  where  I  had  spent  all  my  time  in  fanning  away  the 
musquitoes,  to  enjoy  the  novelty  of  mechanical  rising  and 
falling.  Sue  sat  near  the  bow  of  the  boat.  She  reminded 
me  of  some  of  the  heroines  of  song  as  we  awaited,  in  these 
walled  inclosures,  the  opening  of  the  immense  gates,  which, 
without  much  aid  from  fancy,  at  i  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
by  the  feeble  light  of  the  lamps,  looked  like  a  portcullis  to 


128  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

an  ancient  castle,  or  any  thing  else  your-  imagination  might 
choose  to  liken  it  to.     Just  at  nightfall  we  met  the  Murray 
family,  and  stopped  long  enough  to  go  on  board  their  boat, 
where  we  saw  an  Indian  chief  of  the  Sac  tribe  thirty  inches 
long  I  a  sort  of  a  stump  of  a  man  ;  like  to  the  three  wise 
men  of  Gotham  in   the  respect  that  his  lower   extremities 
were  placed  in  a  bowl,  to  facilitate  his  traveling.     The  Mur- 
rays  told  us  he  spoke  five  Indian  languages  and  the  French, 
but  we  had  no  opportunity  to  try  his  *  prodigious  erudition/ 
as  the  poor  creature  had  more  delicacy  than  we  manifested, 
and  averted  his  head  from  us.      I  must  confess  myself  tired 
of  the  canal,  though,  asjw/  may  guess,  its  safety  commends 
it  to  my  coward  heart.     R.  says  we  are  much  in  the  condi 
tion  of  a  tea-cup  swimming  about  in  a  slop-bowl,  *  *  *  * 
"Buffalo,  June  zqth. — After  we  left  Batavia  the  face  of 
the  country  changed.     It  has  quite  a  new  look — here  and 
there  log  houses,  and  fields  full  of  stumps,  but  every  where 
abundance  and  comfortable  abodes.     I  find  all  the  people 
are  our  country  people,  and,  true  to  my  love  of  rinding  out 
folks/  for  which  you  so  often  laugh  at  me,  I  have  some  clish- 
maclaver  with  the  landlady  or  some  of  her  household  wher 
ever  we  stop.     To-day  I  brightened  the  faded  C3re  of  a  with 
ered  '  octogenarian,'  who  was  breaking  up  the  curds  for  her 
granddaughter's  cheese,  by  telling  her  that  I  came  from  the 
land  from  whence  she  emigrated  some  forty  or  fifty  years 
ago.     She  said  she  'set  more  store  by  one  from  New  En 
gland  than  by  all  the  town  of  Clarence.'     She  was  struck 
with  admiration  at  T.'s  beautiful  face,  and  said, '  Whoever  he 
belonged  to,  he  was  a  perfect  beauty.'     The  modest  blush 
her  remark  spread  upon  his  full  cheek  justified  her  expres 
sion.     Dear  boy,  he  has  been  the  delight  of  all  our  hearts. 
I  am  not  disposed  to  allow  that  *  Life's  enchanted  cur/  hni- 
sparkles  at  the  brim/  yet  his  glad  innocent  face  does  indi 
cate  that  to  him  it  is  a  sweeter  draught  than  to  those  that 


Life  and  Letters.  129 

have  tasted  the  bitter  drops  that  sometimes  mingle  with  its 
waters.  *  *  *  * 

"This  beautiful  country  stimulates  my  patriotism.  That 
passion  which  is  inspired  by  the  peaceful  triumphs  of  man 
over  Nature,  if  it  is  not  as  romantic,  is  certainly  more  inno 
cent  than  that  which  is  kindled  by  battle-grounds,  and  I 
should  even  venture  to  put  our  cheerful  dwellings,  and  fruit 
ful  fields,  and  blooming  gardens  againsfr  the  ivy-mantled 
towers  and  blasted  oaks  of  older  regions,  and  busy  hands 
and  active  minds  against  the  '  spectres  that  sit  and  sigh* 
amid  their  ruins.  You  saw  this  place  immediately  after  the 
devastation  of  the  last  war,  during  which  every  habitation 
save  one  was  burnt.  You  would  be  surprised  at  its  phoenix 
resurrection.  There  are  1200  inhabitants,  three  congrega 
tions,  a  beautiful  Episcopal  church,  a  bank,  court-house,  and 
several  fine  brick  houses,  some  of  them  quite  as  large  as 
any  in  Albany."  *  *  *  * 

To  L.t  S.t  and  E. 

"  Afouth  of  the  Niagara. — There  were  two  subjects  of  curi 
osity  in  Oneida,  and  I  was  very  sorry  that  the  arrangement 
we  had  made  with  the  canal-boat  did  not  allow  us  to  stop 
there  at  all.  The  one  was  the  clergyman  who  presides  over 
the  spiritual  interests  of  the  poor  natives.  He  is  a  far-away 
cousin  of  ours.  Do  not  be  startled,  my  dear  girls,  though 
some  Indian  blood  is  mingled  in  his  veins  with  a  fairer  cur 
rent.  He  is  descended  from  a  daughter  of  a  Parson  Wil 
liams,  of  Deerfield.  She  was  taken  by  the  savages  during 
one  of  their  incursions  into  the  newly-formed  settlement  of 
our  pious  ancestors.  She  was  so  young  that  she  soon  lost 
all  recollection  of  her  parents.  Many  years  after,  when 
peace  was  established  with  our  wild  neighbors  (but  not  till 
after  the  bear's  claws  and  teeth  had  been  taken  oi3t),  her 
friends  made  a  fruitless  effort  to  recover  her.  She  had  mar- 

F  2 


130  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

ried  an  Indian,  and  chosen  his  country  for  her  country,  and 
his  God  for  her  God  ;  and,  like  the  tender  and  true-hearted 
Ruth,  she  has  been  the  mother  of  a  servant  of  the  Lord. 
Mr.  Williams  (for  he  bears  the  name  of  his  maternal  ances 
tors)  is  said  to  labor  with  greal  zeal  and  some  success  among 
the  remnant  of  his  tribe. 

"  Here,  on  the  margin  of  the  river,  were  encamped  seven 
families  of  Irisluemigrants,  making  in  all  fifty.  They  had 
entered  the  country  at  Quebec,  and  expressed  great  satis- 
factiou  at  having  arrived  within  our  territory.  One  poor 
woman,  with  John  Rogers's  complement  of  children,  and  one 
sick  one  in  her  arms,  hoped  to  find  her  husband  in  Mercer, 
in  Ohio.  In  another  tent  was  a  poor  man  with  ten  chil 
dren,  whose  wife  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  hardships  of  the 
passage.  He  looked  quite  dispirited.  I  asked  him  how 
they  liked  our  country.  *  Och,  ma'am,  and  we  could  not 
miss  liking  it,1  said  he,  'we  find  the  people  so  free  and  hos 
pitable.'  One  sweet  pretty  girl,  niece  to  the  woman  who 
had  died,  had,  like  Abraham,  come  out  from  her  country, 
and  kindred,  and  friends,  and  without,  I  believe,  the  incite 
ment  of  a  special  call  so  to  do.  I  asked  her  how  she  could 
leave  them  all.  *  Sure  it  is,  ma'am,'  said  she,  '  if  it  thrive 
well  with  me,  they  will  all  come  after.'  The  poor  Irishers  I 
they  do  all  come  first  or  last.  This  pretty  girl  was  a  Prot 
estant,  so  I  thought  I  could  not  give  a  better  '  God-speed' 
to  her  pilgrimage  than  by  bestowing  on  her  my  Testament. 
She  received  it  as  if  she  had  some  notion  of  its  value."*  *  *  * 

"Niagara  Falls,  July  ist. — We  arrived  at  the  Falls  yes 
terday  at  i  o'clock,  or,  as  they  call  the  place  here,  at  Stam 
ford.  We  immediately  obtained  a  guide,  and  all,  with  one 
heart  and  one  mind,  with  the  most  impatient  curiosity,  de 
scended  to  take  our  first  view  of  the  Falls.  I  know  it  is 
impossible  to  give  an  idea  of  the  beauty  and  sublimity  of 


Life  and  Letters.  131 

the  scene.  If  I  fail  to  do  it,  I  may  impress  my  memory  so 
strongly  as  to  be  able  at  some  future  time  to  recall  the  im 
ages  that  arc  before  me  at  this  moment.  From  Forsyth's 
the  walk  toward  the  Falls  is  for  some  distance  through  a 
level  and  shaded  road  ;  then  you  descend  a  deep  pathway, 
with  steep  banks  on  each  side,  covered  with  a  verdure  that 
resembles  the  new-mown  grass,  fresh  and  sparkling  from  a 
recent  shower — a  beautiful  peculiarity  that  it  always  pre 
serves,  and  owes  to  the  continual  humidity  of  the  atmos 
phere.  These  banks  are  overhung  with  butternut  and  beech 
trees,  elms  and  lindens.  Under  a  beautiful  linden  we  first 
caught  the  view  of  the  American  Fall,  which  is  directly  in 
front  of  you  as  you  approach  the  bank.  "This  is  one  straight 
sheet  of  water,  with  a  single  interruption  from  a  small  inter 
vening  island,  covered  with  evergreen.  You  see  the  rapids 
beyond  it,  the  bridge  Judge  Porter  has  thrown  over  them  to 
Goat  Island,  his  fine  house,  almost  hid  by  the  majestic  trees 
around  it,  and  two  little  islands  on  the  brink  of  the  fall. 
They  look,  amidst  the  commotion,  like  the  ships  of  some 
woodland  nymph  gayly  sailing  onward,  or  you  might  imag 
ine  the  wish  of  the  Persian  girl  realized,  *  Oh,  that  this  little 
isle  had  wings  1'  At  the  termination  of  this  road,  and  near 
the  bank  of  the  river  (which  is  one  halCmile  fror%Forsyth's), 
is  an  old  stone  house,  inhabited  by  a  Yorkshireman  and  his 
wife.  Sue  and  I  called  to  see  them  while  we  were  resting 
our  weary  limbs  (for  with  all  this  regale  of  the  spirit  there 
is  weariness  of  the  flesh).  The  old  man  gave  us  a  piteous 
account  of  his  trials  :  he  said  when  he  laid  in  his  bed  he 
could  never  tell  when  it  rained  nor  when  it  thundered,  for 
there  was  always  a  dripping  from  the  dampness,  and  the 
deafening  roar  of  the  fall ;  and  then  his  poor  cattle,  in  win 
ter,  were  always  covered  with  icicles.  It  was  a  mighty  fine 
thing  to  come  and  see,  but  we  should  be  sick  enough  of  it  if 
we  had  as  much  of  it  as  he  had.  'II  n'y  a  rien  dc  beau  que 


132  Life  of  Cat/i  arine  M.  Sedgivick. 

1'utile'  is  a  fair  maxim  for  a  poor  laborer.  We  expressed 
our  sympathy,  which  was  certainly  more  appropriate  than 
our  contempt  would  have  been.  *  *  *  * 

"  3^/  July.  On  board  t/ic  steam-boat  Ontario,  Niagara  JKivcr, 
Youngstown. — We  left  the  Falls  yesterday  morning.  The 
morning  was  rainy  (the  first  rain  we  have  had  since  we  left 
home),  but,  notwithstanding,  we  all  went  through  showers 
above  and  mud  below  to  take  our  farewell  of  the  Falls. 
Dear  Robert,  whose  benevolence  is  indefatigable,  was  not 
willing  to  have  me  come  away  without  going  under  Table 
Rock.  We  descended  the  steps  once  more  together,  and 
scrambled  over  the  rocks,  which  in  some  places  are  so  soft 
that  you  can  break  off  pieces  and  crumble  them  to  powder 
in  your  hands.  We  walked  under  the  tremendous  projec- 
,  tion  of  rock,  which  here  forms  a  considerable  arc  of  a  cir 
cle,  the  summit,  as  you  stand  in  the  depths  of  the  excava 
tions,  projecting  many  yards  beyond  you,  with  trees  hang 
ing  over  the  extreme  point.  Every  thing  is  so  vast  that  you 
seem  introduced  to  a  new  state  of  being,  and  almost  doubt 
your  identity.  The  heights  and  the  depths,  the  moisture*  of 
the  atmosphere,  which  gives  to  every  leaf  and  spear  of  grass 
in  the  crevices  of  the  rocks  a  tender  green  ;  the  fishermen 
below,  who^seem  dwindled  to  children,  all  combine  to  form 
a  scene  as  new  as  it  is  imposing.  But  it  is  not  these  banks 
of  rock  ('  qui  scmblent  en  harmonic  avec  le  torrent  soli 
taire,  image  du  temps,  qui  les  a  fait  ce  qu'elles  split1),  it  is 
not  that  solitary  and  eternal  torrent  that  produces  the  awe 
you  feel,  inspiring  devotion  amidst  these  objects,  but  it  is 
the  '  Spirit  of  God  moving  on  the  waters/  It  is  the  vast- 
ness  of  every  object,  expressing  the  infinity  of  the  Creator, 
and  thus  bringing  you  into  his  visible  presence.  *  *  *  * 
We  took  our  leave  of  the  Falls  with  a  mixture  of  sadness 
and  gratitude.  « Glory  had  been  at  one  entrance  quite  M 
/>/,'  new  images  of  the  power  and  the  glory  of  the  Creator 


Life  and  Letters.  133 

had  been  conveyed  to  our  minds  through  this  avenue,  and 
our  hearts  united  in  a  Te  Deum  for  all  that  we  had  enjoyed 
from  this  marvelous  work.  *  *  *  * 

"  I  forgot  to  mention  to  you  a  parly  of  Greenwich  Street 
shopkeepers  we  met  at  Niagara.  They  have  come  into  this 
picturesque  world  for  what,  unless  *  Peter  Domer's  Riddle' 
will  help  us  to  a  solution,  I  can  not  tell.  Well,  here  they 
have  come  to  spend  all  the  profits  of  their  patient  labor  in 
measuring  tape  and  dealing  out  pins  and  needles  for  the 
last  twenty  years.  Yesterday  I  he'xrd  them  say  they  had 
been  dreadfully  disappointed  in  their  journey — they  had  not 
seen  a  broiled  chicken  nor  a  roast  pig  since  they  left  New 
York  !  Remember  the  philosophic  maxim,  dear  Charles, 
4  de  gustibus,'  etc.  If  we  have  the  Falls,  why  should  not 
they  have  chickens?  Is  not  it  difficult  sometimes  to  ab 
stain  from  the  pharisaic  thanksgiving  ?  *  *  *  * 

"  SS/*  J"ly-  On  board  the  Ontario. — We  passed  a  delight 
ful  day  with  our  kind  friends  at  Rochester.  It  was  a  re 
freshment  that  we  needed,  for  jevcn  our  short  privation  of 
faces  and  objects  that  were  familiar  to  us  had  caused  those 
unpleasant  sensations  of  travelers  that  Madame  de  Staiil  has 
so  well  described  :  *  Voir  des  visages  humains,  sans  relation 
avec  votre  pass£,  ni  avec  votrc  avenir,  c'est  dc  la  solitude  et 
de  1'isolement,  sans  rcpos  ct  sans  dlgnitc,  car  cet  empresse- 
ment,  cette  hate  pour  arrivcr  lu  on  pcrsonne  ne  vous  attend, 
cctte  agitation  dont  curiositu  est  la  seule  cause,  vous  in 
spire  peu  d'estime  pour  vous-mfime.1  You  may  smile  at  my 
attempting  to  apply  language  which  belongs  to  the  traveler 
'solitaire  et  isolu'  to  our  merry,  happy  party.  I  will  not 
contend  for  the  aptness  of  the  quotation,  though  I  might  for 
its  eloquence.  *  *  *  * 

"  Descending  the  steep  bank  to  the  river,  Mr.  1£.  pointed 
us  to  a  railway  made  to  facilitate  the  conveyance  of  freight 
up  and  down  the  bank.  Captain  Vaughan  has  a.  son  on 


134  -Lift  °f  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

board,  «i  sprightly  boy  of  twelve,  who  last  year  was  descend 
ing  this  railway  in  the  box  (like  a  wagon-box  fixed  on  roll 
ers).  The  rope  broke  the  moment  they  began  their  de 
scent.  Young  Vaughan  seized  a  child  who  was  with  him 
— a  stranger — and  jumped  over.  The  child  was  quite  unin 
jured;  and  the  boy,  whose  instinctive  benevolence  and  self- 
possession  you  will  admire  as  much  as  I  do,  sustained 
very  little  injury.  The  box  acquired  immense  velocity  in 
the  descent,  and,  of  the  two  other  persons  with  them,  one 
was  shockingly  mangled  and  the  other  instantly  killed.  *  * 
<*  *  *  When  we  had  got  ourselves  quietly  re-established  in 
the  boat,  I  went  to  inquire  after  a  poor  woman — a  steerage 
passenger — who  had  been  suffering  from  a  paroxysm  of 
toothache,  and  for  whom  I  had  procured  some  laudanum 
and  camphor  before  I  left  the  boat.  In  reply  to  my  in 
quiries,  she  said,  '  I  am  quite  easy ;  but  it  was  not  your 
trade,  (sic)  ma'am,  that  cured  me.  The  captain  is  a  seventh 
son  of  a  seventh  son,  and  he  said  he  could  cure  me  with 
stroking  my  face.  I  know  it  is  a  simple  thing  to  tell,  but  it 
did  cure  me.'  Who  will  quarrel  with  a  superstition  that 
cures  the  toothache  ? 

"  We  have  been  sitting  on  the  roof  of  the  ladies'  cabin, 
and,  by  the  light  of  this  beautiful  crescent,  which  now  *  seems 
to  shine  just  to  pleasure  us/  watching  our  winding  path 
through  the  'Thousand  Isles.1  The  heavens  are  yet  bright 
ened  by  the  parting  smiles  of  day.  The  verdant  islands  are 
of  every  size  and  form — some  stretching  for  miles  in  length, 
and  some  so  small  that  they  seem  destined  for  a  race  of 
fairies;  some  in  clusters,  like  the  'solitary  set  in  families,' 
and  some  like  beautiful  vestals  in  single  loveliness.  The 
last  streak  of  daylight  has  faded  from  the  west,  and  the 
blush  on  the  waters  is  followed  by  the  reflection  of  the  'far 
blue  arch'  and  its  starry  host.  The  fishermen's  lights  are 
kindling  along  the  margin  of  the  river ;  our  mate  says  we 


Life  and  Letters.  \$$ 

are  having  a  *  most  righteous  time.'  Captain  Vaughan,  whose 
simplicity  and  unostentatious  kindness  have  won  their  way  to 
all  our  hearts,  has  fired  his  signal-gun  for  us  several  times, 
that  we  might  hear  the  reverberations  amidst  these  islands. 
The  mate  says,  *  Don't  they  hollow  well  ?'  They  do  indeed, 
as  if  we  wakened  the  spirits  of  their  deep  solitudes  to  send 
us  back  our  greeting.  The  captain  has  just  ordered  the 
signal  to  be  given  to  his  fisherman,  who  immediately  an 
swered  it  by  kindling  a  bright  light  on  the  shore — a  pine 
torch,  I  believe,  for  by  its  bright  flame  I  perfectly  discerned 
a  little  hut  on  the  brink  of  the  water,  the  element  on  which 
he  lives,  for  there  does  not  appear  to  have  been  a  tree  fell 
ed  from  the  deep  woods  that  surround  him.  He  put  off  in 
his  little  canoe  freighted  with  fish,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
completed  his  exchange  with  our  steward,  who,  in  return  for 
the  fish,  furnished  him  with  gunpowder  and  whisky,  which 
our  pleasant  little  mate  gave  him,  saying,  *  Here  is  your  tea, 
fisherman.1  He  looked  as  wild  as  poor  Effie's  boy,  Whist 
ler.  Robert  (dear  Robert,  who  has  been  my  kind  angel  thus 
far  on  my  journey  of  life)  said  to  me,  as  I  sat  snugged  up  in 
his  cloak,  '  Kate,  we  shall  remember  this  a  great  while.' 
Dear  Jane,  may  not  these  beautiful  scenes,  that  seem  now 
like  'glimpses  of  heaven,1  be  among  our  pleasures  of  mem 
ory  if  ever  we  enter  into  the  blessed  inheritance  of  the 
saints  ?*****  We  are  seated  vis-u-vis  in  our  little  boat, 
with  one  small  sail.  The  boat  has  freight  enough  to  keep 
it  steady,  and,  though  this  is  very  little,  it  occupies  a  great 
portion  of  our  room,  so  that  we  are  obliged  to  sit  on  boards 
without  the  amelioration  of  a  cushion,  almost  as  compactly 
as  we  should  in  a  stage-coach.  The  St.  Lawrence  presents 
an  appearance  quite  novel  to  us.  It  resembles  one  of  our 
rivers  when  brimful  from  a  freshet.  We  have  already  pass 
ed  two  of  the  Rapids.  The  river  usually  descends  so  much 
as  to  give  great  velocity  to  the  current  before  you  come  to 


136  JLife  of  Catharine  JW.  Scdgwick. 

the  Rapids.  You  find  yourself  suddenly  impelled  forward 
as  if  by  an  unseen  and  invisible  hand  ;  the  banks  seem  fly 
ing  from  you ;  still  your  passage,  though  almost  as  fleet,  is  as 
noiseless  as  that  of  the  planets  in  tjieir  orbits.  Suddenly 
you  pass  into  the  waters  that  are  foaming  over  their  hidden 
bed  of  rocks.  The  boatmen  throw  themselves  prostrate  in 
the  bottom  of  the  boat  to  avoid  the  dashing  billows,  their 
oars  being  useless  in  these  agitated  waters.  The  skillful 
steersman  strains  every  nerve  at  the  helm  to  guide  the  boat 
in  its  difficult  path.  It  seems  very  perilous  to  my  cowardly 
nerves,  but  it  is  not  so,  as  is  proved  by  the  rare  occurrence 
of  accidents.  I  am  not  so  quiet  as  I  could  wish,  but  the 
rest  of  the  party  are  more  reasonable,  or  have  stouter  hearts, 
and  are  as  merry  as  possible.  We  have  just  passed  Crist- 
laer's  Town,  another  war-scene  ;  but  these  theatres  for  'am 
bition's  honored  fools'  are  quite  common  in  this  country. 
*  *  *  # 

"  Montreal^  qth. — We  disembarked  at  Coteau  before  the 
storm  had  arrived  at  the  poetic  height  requisite  for  descrip 
tion.  Be  thankful  that  you  are  spared  that.  We  sought 
refuge  in  the  Boatman's  Inn,  which,  upon  inquiry,  I  found 

was  kept  by  a  Mr.  T ,  a  man  who  had  emigrated  from 

Barrington.  His  wife,  too,  was  from  the  Bay  State,  but  they 
seemed  not  to  have  retained  any  of  the  thrifty  habits  and 
gctting-tiloHg  faculties  of  our  home-land.  The  only  Yankee 
symptom  I  observed  was  the  expression  of  regret  from  the 
woman  that  her  children  had  neither  the  privilege  of  schools 
or  meetings.  She  could  get  no  spiritual  refreshment  but  by 
crossing  the  river  and  going  thirty  miles  into  the  States. 
She  had  Catholic  churches  in  her  neighborhood,  but,  accord 
ing  to  her  view  of  things,  partaking  from  their  board  would 
reverse  the  Scripture  rule.  It  would  be  giving  the  dogs' 
meat  to  the  children.  AVe  regretted  that  we  had  not  brought 
some  tracts  for  distribution  in  this  land  of  spiritual  ignorance 


Life  and  Letters.  137 

and  famine.  This  wretched  inn  resembled  nothing  I  have 
ever  seen  or  heard  of  so  much  as  the  *  Clachan  of  Aberfoil,' 
and,  bating  the  dirks  and  the  Baillie,  I  think  it  was  in  no 
whit  superior  to  that.  Besides  Indians,  emigrants,  Canadi 
ans,  and  boatmen  who  had  taken  shelter  from  the  storm, 
there  were  numbers  of  those  people  that  we  call  tavern- 
haunters,  who  not  only  find  their  *  kindest,'  but  their  only 
'welcome  at  an  inn.'  These  were  stupefied  or  noisy  from 
the  revels  of  the  preceding  night,  and  were  either  lounging 
on  the  beds,  or  swearing  and  drinking.  The  house  was  ta 
pestried  with  spiders'  webs,  and  blackened  with  smoke  and 
all  manner  of  defilement.  The  storm  continued  so  long 
that  the  captain  of  cur  boat  and  the  pilot  decided  that  it 
would  not  be  prudent  to  proceed  that  night.  We  were  de 
termined  to  seek  some  better  fortune  than  that  of  Mrs. 

T 's  inn,  and  after  dinner  Robert  and  I  sallied  forth  to 

a  French  village  a  little  distance  Iroin  the  shore.  To  our 
great  joy,  we  saw  a  sign  with  '  Auberge  et  Laugcment'  on  it. 
The  bad  French  was  not  our  affair,  but  the  neat  tavern  was ; 
and,  after  having  engaged  three  decent  apartments,  which 
were  then  occupied  by  some  milords,  but  were  to  be  vacated 
before  night,  we  proceeded,  in  high  spirits,  to  explore  some 
other  habitations  in  the  neighborhood,  which  on  some  pre 
text  we  entered.  We  found  no  difficulty  in  gratifying  our 
curiosity.  The  Canadians  are  noted  for  their  civility.  This 
quality  is  woven  into  the  texture  of  French  character.  The 
Canadians  seem  to  have  lost  the  enterprise,  the  activity, 
gayety,  and  ingenuity  of  their  ancestors,  but  politeness  is 
still  as  easy  to  them  as  if  it  were  instinctive.  We  entered  a 
house  where  the  family  were  occupied  as  in  our  farmers' 
houses.  The  mother  was  spinning,  and  the  eldest  daughter 
weaving.  We  inquired  why  they  did  not  teach  English  to 
their  children.  They  said  they  did  not  love  the  language — 
the  English  had  done  them  too  much  wrong.  They  com- 


138  £ife  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

plained  of  their  oppression  during  the  last  war.  The  old 
woman  said  the  militia  officers  would  take  from  them  'des 
veaux,  des  moutons,  des  //ardoris,  des  poulets,  tous,  tous, 
tous."  We  inquired  if  the  children  were  taught  to  read,  and 
found  that  two  of  the  younger  ones  had  been  sent  to  a  board 
ing-school  some  miles  distant.  A  modest  little  girl  was 
called  up  to  exhibit  her  acquirements.  Her  school-book 
was  a  collection  of  morceaux  from  the  Fathers.  She  read 
a  prayer  of  St.  Augustine's,  while  the  old  people  stared  at 
her  with  wonder  and  delight,  as  if  they  had  seen  a  success 
ful  experiment  in  chemistry.  I  have  acknowledged  to  you 
that  the  Rapids  terrified  me.  '  Le  Galop1  and  '  Le  long 
Saut'  had  quite  satiated  my  curiosity,  and  I  had  no  anxiety 
to  see  '  Les  Cedres,' '  Les  Cascades,'  and  the  «  Split  Rock.' 
A  fine  post-coach,  which  was  to  return  in  the  morning  to 
Montreal,  offered  me  a  tempting  opportunity,  and  Robert, 
ever  kind,  and  perhaps  too  indulgent,  was  willing  to  accom 
pany  me.  Mrs.  B — —  was  as  glad  as  I  was  to  back  out  of 
the  boat.  Brother  Theodore  looked  upon  me  as  quite  dis 
graced  by  my  cowardice,  and  urged  this  as  a  fair  occasion 
to  discipline  my  coward  nature.  He  was  right,  I  believe ; 
but  I  have  of  late  been  so  accustomed  to  delicacies  that  I 
had  not  resolution  to  swallow  so  disagreeable  a  draught, 
and  without  fear,  but  with  reproach,  I  took  most  inglorious- 
ly  to  my  *  land  paddles  S 

41  River  St.  Lawrence,  July  n, 

"  MY  DEAR  JANE, — You  are  not  obliged  to  read,  but  I 
must  write,  and  write  to  you,  for  I  have  so  accustomed  my 
self  to  the  stimulant  which  the  hope  of  giving  you  pleasure 
affords  me  that  I  can  not  do  without  it.  This  has  often 
sent  me  to  my  pen  when  tired  nature  would  have  sent  me 
to  my  bed.  *  *  *  * 

"We  stopped  at  the  wall  which  incloses  La  Maison  des 
Pr6tres.  This  is  a  beautiful  place  to  which  the  priests  of 


Life  and  Letters. 

the  Seminary  of  St.  Sulpice  resort  once  a  week,  with  their 
pupils,  for  recreation.  We  had  no  passport,  and  we  were  at 
our  wits'  end  for  the  means  of  gratifying  our  curiosity;  but 
is  a  Yankee  ever  at  his  wit's  end  ?  We  determined  to  pass 
the  barrier,  and  trust  to  our  own  cleverness  for  the  rest. 
The  house  is  an  ancient  fortress,  erected  by  the  French  gov 
ernment  as  a  defense  against  the  incursions  of  the  savages. 
It  is  inclosed  by  a  stone  wall  twelve  feet  in  height,  and  with 
two  round  towers  at  the  entrance  of  the  court.  Robert  led 
us  up  the  court,  and,  as  he  entered  the  door,  a  round-faced, 
jolly-looking  priest,  who  sat  sleeping  by  the  open  door  of 
another  apartment  (where  the  young  priests  were  playing  at 
billiards  !),  advanced  toward  us.  Robert  told  him  we  wish 
ed  to  see  their  establishment.  He  replied  that  it  would  be 
difficult  to  grant  our  request,  as  it  was  their  day  of  recrea 
tion,  when,  according  to  the  rules  o'f  the  house,  they  admit 
ted  no  visitors.  However,  he  called  an  elder  brother,  whom 
Robert  addressed  as  '  Reverend  P6re/  He  told  him  we 
were  strangers  from  the  United  States  with  a  courtesy  of 
manners  that  would  have  been  quite  ait  fait  at  the  court  of 
Versailles.  The  old  man,  a  complete  Abbot  Boniface, 
waived  his  scruples,  bowed  politely,  and  led  us  on.  He  said 
to  Robert, '  You  must  be  from  France,  dear  sir,  as  you  speak 
French  like  a  Parisian.'  So  much  for  his  having  had  the 
manners  to  call  him  Reverend  Pore.  He  might  have  said, 
with  more  propriety,  *  Your  politeness  is  Parisian.'  He  led 
us  through  a  beautiful  flower-garden  to  a  spacious  inclosure, 
partly  below  the  hill  and  partly  on  its  brow,  through  which  is 
a  canal,  with  a  fountain  and  a  bark  canoe,  and  on  each  side 
of  the  canal  fine  butternut  and  linden  trees.  We  met  the 
superior,  a  man  of  very  elegant  appearance,  and,  as  we  are 
informed,  of  great  accomplishments.  He  advanced  toward 
us,  and  said  it  was  contrary  to  their  rules  to  permit  ladies 
to  enter  the  grounds  when  the  priests  were  there.  Robert 


140  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Settgwick. 

pleaded  our  ignorance,  which  he  with  a  benignant  smile  ad 
mitted  as  an  apology,  saying,  *  You  were  not  obliged  to  di 
vine/  and  begged  us  to  proceed.  One  of  the  reverends  was 
reposing  under  the  protecting  shadow  of  a  noble  tree,  with 
a  book  in  his  hand.  Others  were  sauntering  on  the  bank 
of  the  canal,  and  all  presented  a  scene  of  contentment  and 
indulgence  not  strictly  compatible  with  their  self-denying 
system.  It  is  pleasant  to  see  an  open  and  fearless  relaxa 
tion  of  their  slave  service.  It  must  be  far  easier  to  be  good, 
under  this  fair  sky,  where,  though  '  deep  the  silence,  yet  how 
loud  the  praise,1  than  in  the  sullen  gloom  of  a  cloister.  *  *  *  * 

"  The  evening  before  we  had  spent  with  a  New  England 
party  at  our  friend  Mrs.  Day's,  Her  pleasing  family  and 
cordial  kindness  made  us  feel  quite  at  home,  and  that  is  one 
of  the  '  feelings  to  mortals  given'  worth  almost  all  the  rest. 
Last  evening  at  10  o'clock,  Robert  and  I,  whose  weirds  seem 
destined  to  be  dree'd  together,  took  leave  of  our  dear  friends. 
Few  parties  have  ever  been  composed  of  more  harmonious 
materials.  Much  as  I  wished  to  sec  Quebec,  Robert  and 
I  felt  at  the  moment  of  parting  as  if  we  would  rather  share 
the  fortunes  of  the  rest  to  the  end  of  the  jaunt.  *  *  *  * 

"  We  arrived  under  the  steep  battle-heights  of  Quebec  a 
few  minutes  after  nine,  just  as  the  twilight  had  faded  away, 
having  accomplished  our  sail  of  180  miles  in  a  little  more 
than  eighteen  hours.  *  *  *  * 

"  After  breakfast  we  hired  the  only  carriage  in  Quebec 

and  a  gig,  and  went  with  the  F s  to  see  the  Falls  of 

Montmorenci.  The  road  is  intolerably  bad,  and  though  the 
distance  is  not  more  than  eight  miles,  we  did  not  get  back 
until  three.  *  *  *  * 

"  Montmorenci  is  not  more  than  twenty  yards  in  breadth, 
and  falls'  about  180  feet,  some  say  250,  but  it  looked  to  me 
but  very  little  higher  than  Niagara.  The  fall  is  about  fifty 
rods  from  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and  has  evidently  re- 


Lift:  and  Letters.  141 

ceded  from  the  banks  of  the  St.  Lawrence  to  its  present 
tumbling-place.  Thanks  to  my  country  bringing  up,  I  de 
scended  the  bank  the  nearest  way  without  difficulty,  while 
our  town-bred  companions  were  obliged  to  go  a  circuitous 
path.  It  was  ebb  tide,  and  Robert  and  I  walked  along  the 
margin,  passed  the  projection  of  the  rock  a  few  feet  from 
the  fall,  and  got  near  enough  to  the  foot  of  it  to  have  the 
best  view  of  it,  and  to  get  thoroughly  drenched  with  the 
spray.  The  water  makes  a  single  graceful  leap  from  the 
summit  of  the  rocks  to  the  foaming  bed  below.  All  water 
falls  are  beautiful  objects,  and  this  is  distinguished  among 
its  species,  but  in  my  eyes  diet  not  quite  deserve  its  celeb 
rity,  which  it  may  perhaps  in  part  owe  to  the  historic  inter 
est  of  the  spot.  You  and  I,  dear  Jane,  should  deem  it  a 
profane  presumption  for  the  soldier  to  mingle  the  harsh  dis 
sonance  of  war  with  Nature's  musical  voice,  as  it  steals  upon 
the  sense  in  the  murmuring  of  the  stream,  or  swells  to  sub 
limity  in  the  roaring  of  the  fall.  *  *  *  * 

"  After  dinner  we  had  the  good  fortune  to  obtain  the 
guidance  of  some  of  the  officers  of  the  3 7 th -Regiment,  who 
first  escorted  us  to  the  parade-ground,  where  we  saw  the 
soldiers  go  through  their  evening  exercise.  They  then  con 
ducted  us  around  the  fortifications  and  to  Cape  Diamond. 
They  were  extremely  polite  and  obliging,  and  did  not  scru 
ple  to  show  us  every  thing  we  wished  to  see.  I  shall  not 
undertake  to  describe  these  fortifications  to  you.  They  did 
not  look  quite  as  formidable  as  I  expected.  I  felt,  like  a 
smart  little  Yankee  boy  of  whom  we  had  heard,  that  we 
might  take  them.  This  child,  a  cadet  ten  years  old,  who, 
Captain  Hall  told  us,  came  with  his  father  in  his  boat  to 
Quebec  last  summer,  was  accidentally  separated  from  his 
party  while  walking  about  the  fortifications.  He  met  a 
common  soldier,  and  requested  him  to  show  him  the  way  to 
the  Plains  of  Abraham,  whither  the  party  was  destined.  He 


142  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

gave  the  soldier  some  money,  intending  it  as  a  requital  for 
his  guidance.  As  they  walked  along,  he  asked  the  man  to 
explain  the  design  of  any  part  of  the  fortifications  he  did 
not  understand,  and  the  good-natured  soldier  was  delighted 
to  gratify  his  intelligent  curiosity.  After  a  while  the  boy 
paused,  and  said,  *  Well,  it  :'s  very  strong,  that's  certain,  but 
I  think  we  could  take  it.'  '  We!  who  are  we  ?'  said  the  man. 
*  Why,  we  Americans/  *  You  an  American  1'  said  the  man, 
with  a  terrible  oath,  dashing  away  the  money  the  boy  had 
given  him  ;  "  and  have  I  been  serving  my  king  four-and- 
twenty  years,  to  be  bribed  by  an  American  boy  at  last  |f  *  *  *  * 

"  J  had  seen  enough  of  Quebec.  When  we  first  approach 
ed  it,  I  felt  some  risings  of  envy  that  a  place  which  seemed 
to  be  one  of  the  natural  portals  to  our  great  country  should 
be  in  foreign  hands.  But  the  coverings  of  national  pride 
were  soon  cured  by  the  conviction  that  the  support  of  such 
an  expensive  military  position  would  make  it  a  very  dear 
acquisition,  and  it  can  not  be  at  all  essential  to  our  safety 
or  defense.  The  British  are  welcome  to  it.  It  must  be  an 
odious  place  of  residence,  'altogether  inconvenient,'  as  Dr. 
F.  said  of  the  ill  place.  It  is  built,  you  know,  on  a  precipi 
tous  hill,  and  the  ascent  from  the  lower  town  (which  is  a 
narrow  piece  of  ground  rescued  from  the  hill,  and  bound  in 
by  the  water)  is  almost  perpendicular.  The  governor's  res 
idence  (the  Chateau)  is  in  such  a  position  as  Edgar  pictured 
to  the  imagination  of  poor  Gloucester.  Lady  Dalhousie's 
back  windows,  from  whence  she  looks  into  an  abyss  upon 
the  roofs  of  the  houses  of  the  lower  town,  would  afford  a 
fine  situation  for  '  le  diable  boiteux.'  We  were  treated  with 
kindness  by  every  one  from  whom  we  had  occasion  for  any 
favor,  English  and  Canadian.  *  *  *  * 

"Saturday,  itf/i. — We  sailed  at  xi  last  night.  The  cur 
rent  of  this  racing  river  runs  at  the  rate  of  three,  four,  and 
in  some  parts  seven  miles  an  hour.  Of  course  the  ascent  is 


Life  and  Letters.  143 

at  best  twelve  hours  longer  than  the  descent.  We  stopped 
at  Three  Rivers,  and  our  polite  captain  allowed  us  time  to 
go  ou  shore,  and  went  with  us  to  the  convent.  The  Sisters 
would  not  admit  us  without  a  passport  from  the  Grand  Vi- 
cairc.  The  captain,  who  did  not  fancy  the  delay,  and  did 
not  esteem  the  sisterhood  a  privileged  order,  called  them, 
with  some  emphatic  expletive,  a  parcel  of  old  cats.  There 
was  no  evading  the  rule,  and  some  of  the  gentlemen  went  to 
the  house  of  the  Grand  Vicaire,  who  -was  kind  enough  to 
grant  a  permit,  notwithstanding  they  had  cut  short  his  after 
noon's  nap.  Among  these  nuns  I  found  a  young  woman 
who  was  born  and  bred  in  Hanover,  New  Hampshire — a 
Yankee  nun !  Her  countenance  was  bright  and  rather 
pleasing.  The  coarse  linen  band  they  bind  around  their 
foreheads,  and  the  deep  linen  collar,  make  them  at  first  look 
old  and  ugly.  We  purchased  some  pretty  bark-work  here, 
and  bade  adieu  to  convents,  without  a  sigh  of  envy  at  their 
seeming  security  from  the  storms  of  life.  They,  with  Rob 
Roy,  belong  to  the  great  class  that  '  are  ower  bad  for  bless 
ing,  and  ower  good  for  banning.1  *  *  *  * 

"  Monday  i  i6///.  Lake  Champlain* — Here  we  are,  dear  sis 
ter,  making  the  best  of  our  way  home.  I  begin  to  snuff  my 
native  air,  and  feel  its  inspiration  warming  my  heart  with 
the  anticipated  delight  of  home  faces  and  home  scenes.  I 
begin  to  suspect  that  I  am  quite  too  national  for  this  philo 
sophic  age,  but  would  not,  if  I  could,  be  cured  of  my  preju 
dices  in  favor  of  my  own  people."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  Channing. 

"  Stockbridgc,  September  25,  1821. 

44  Your  prompt  and  kind  letter,  my  dear  friend,  in  some 
small  measure  made  up  to  me  the  severe  disappointment  of 
not  seeing  you.  Have  you  read  Miss  Wright's  book,  and 
do  you  not  think  some  of  our  vulgar  editors  have  abused 


144  L'fe  of  Catharine  M. 

her  ?     *  She  is  not  accurate,'  I  know,  as  our  friend  Bleecker 
gravely  said  of  one  of  the  most  outrageous  romancers  in  the 
world.     Alas  1  that  it  is  so  ;  what  woman  is  ?    I  have  but  just 
looked  into  Miss  W.'s  book,  but  she  seems  to  me  to  have  a 
habit  of  thinking  on  subjects  that  most  of  her  sex  know 
nothing  about.     At  any  rate,  she  is  a  stranger  and  a  woman, 
and,  as  such,  entitled  to  our  courtesy  and  our  sympathy.      I 
fear  our  New  York  friends  will  be  disappointed  in  H.     No 
''prentice  hand'  is   capable  of  laboring   in   that   vineyard. 
'jThey  want  just  such  a  man  as  Henry  Ware — a  man  wiso 
and  skillful,  with  some  experience,  and  full  of  every  gracious 
affection.      I  hope  to  hear  that  your  brother  William  is  going 
to  a  kinder  climate  for  the  winter.     We  should  need  all  our 
confidence  in  the  unfailing  wisdom  and  goodness  of  Provi 
dence  to  enable  us  to  submit  to  his  removal  to  the  mansions 
prepared  for  him.    Ware  seems  to  me  more  like  your  brother 
in  the  spirit  of  his  devotional  writings  than  any  other  man. 
The  article  on  '  Love  to  God'  in  the  last '  Christian  Disciple' 
breathes  the  spirit  of  your  brother.     My  devout  little  sister, 
Mrs.  Pomeroy,  who  is  as  pious  as  the  very  best  of  Scripture 
ladies,  has  read  it  twice  with  tears  in  her  eyes.     She  relishes 
such  healthful  and  sweet  food,  though  she  is  willing  now 
and  then  to  take  the  medicine  of  controversy.     Her  mind 
has  entirely  escaped  from  the  thraldom  of  orthodox  despot 
ism,  and  she  rejoices  in  her  freedom.     But  I  beg  your  par 
don,  my  dear  friend  ;  you  do  not  know  my  sister,  and  you 
live  beyond  the  sound  of  our  gloomy  polemics,  so  that  you 
can  not  even  imagine  what  liberty  to   such  a  captive  is. 
Robert  is  with  us,  and  with  his  cheering  influence,  and  the 
charities  of  home,  and  the  bright  new  robe  Dame  Nature 
has  lately  arrayed  herself  in,  we  are  happier  than  most  of 
our  race,  and  quite  as  happy  'as  is  consistent,'     My  dear 
Mrs.  Channing,  I  mean,  if  possible,  to  see  you  this  winter, 
and  then  I  shall  hope  to  have  some  help  to   this  snail's 


JLife  and  Letters.  145 

progress  in  your  affections.  Do  write  to  me  soon ;  a  letter 
from  you  always  makes  a  gala-clay,  and  leaves  a  long  track 
of  light  on  my  path.  My  love  to  your  children,  and  believe 
me,  my  dear  friend,  yours  truly,  C.  M.  SEDGWICK." 

Miss  Scttgwifk  to  Mrs,  C/tanning* 

44  New  York,  December  5,  1821. 

"  Your  letter,  my  dear  friend,  was  accidentally  delayed  at 
Stockbridge,  and  I  did  not  receive  it  till  it  was  five  weeks 
old,  so  that,  if  friendship  was  liable  to  the  rapid  decay  of 
matrimonial  love,  the  honey-moon  would  have  been  over 
with  it.     There  are  some  things,  thank  Heaven,  that  do  not 
need  the  relish  of  novelty,  and  your  letters  are  among  them. 
My  life  is  a  good  deal  like  that  of  the  Israelites  that  came 
up  out  of  Egypt,  save  that  it  is  not  passed  in  a  wilderness. 
I  certainly  am  but  a  sojourner,  and  in  that  sense  have  an 
existence  in  actual  conformity  to  the  apostolic  injunction. 
Your  accounts  of  your  brother  are  delightful ;  his  restored 
health  is  a  mercy  to  be  acknowledged  with  devout  and  joy 
ful  thankfulness,  as  his  removal  would  be  a  national  calam 
ity.     I  have  felt  a  superstitious  dread  of  his  death.     It  seem 
ed  to  me  that  it  would  be  a  frown  of  Providence  upon  the 
cause  he  has  so  zealously  adopted,  and  so  materially  ad 
vanced.     I  should  not  venture  to  express  such  an  opinion 
to  many,  for  some  would  deride  it,  but  it  does  seem  to  me 
there  is  a  want  of  seriousness  and  of  holy  fervor  in  your 
clergymen.    I  have  sometimes  felt  this  very  painfully.    There 
is  among  them  a  great  ardor  for  intellectual  attainments  and 
superiority,  but  many  of  them  want  the  holy  devotedness 
that  seems  to  me  essential  to  their  high  calling.    They  come, 
in  the  name  of  their  Master,  to  *  heal  the  sick,  and  bind  up 
the  broken-heffted ;'  to  seek  the  lost,  and  reclaim  the  wan 
derer.     If  the  mission  is  delightful,  it  is  most  serious,  and 
requires  all  the  energy  of  a  human  being,  and  that,  too,  kin- 

G 


146  Lift  of  Catharine  J\f.  Sfdgwick. 

died  by  a  spark  of  heavenly  flame.  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Chan- 
ning,  I  did  not  mean  to  preach  a  sermon  ;  it  is  not  my  vo 
cation,  nor  your  duty  to  listen.  You  will  not  be  surprised 
that  just  now,  as  the  little  Church  here  is  so  busy,  this  sub 
ject  should  be  uppermost  in  my  mind.  If  you  think  as  I 
do,  you  have  so  much  influence,  in  the  sphere  you  move  in, 
that  a  little  occasional  lay-preaching  from  you  might  pro 
duce  great  effect.  I  heard  Dr.  Mason's  farewell  sermon  to 
his  people  on  Sunday  last.  It  was,  on  all  accounts,  a  lam 
entable  performance,  and,  as  I  thought,  indicated  consider 
able  debility  of  mind,  as  well  as  almost  incurable  disease  of 
heart.  As  usual,  he  gave  the  *  rational  Christians'  an  anath 
ema.  He  said  *  they  had  fellowship  with  the  devil :  no,  he 
would  not  slander  the  devil,  they  were  worse,'  etc.  Will  you 
not  say,  as  a  pious  Catholic  once  did  after  a  furious  attack 
of  the  doctor's  upon  the  true  Church,  *  We  must  pray  for  Dr. 
Mason  ?'****!  am  quite  sorry  that  your  charming  do 
mestic  circle  has  been  invaded.  Matrimony  does  certainly 
seem  very  meddling  and  impertinent  to  those  that  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  It  is  very  strange  the  apostle  should 
have  deemed  it  necessary  to  admonish  Christians  to  possess 
not,  since  the  mutability  of  life  so  constantly  teaches  and 
impresses  the  lesson.  To  '  possess  not*  seems  to  me  the 
sure  consequence  of  possessing.  Your  home  has  not  at  all 
lost  its  attractions  to  me.  The  hope  of  passing  a  few  weeks 
in  Boston  this  winter  has  been  one  of  my  summer  dreams, 
but,  as  the  time  approaches,!  fear  my  courage  will  be  frozen 
up  by  the  cold  weather.  Can  not  you,  my  dear  friend,  who 
have  so  much  more  resolution  than  I,  be  tempted  to  come 
here,  and  let  your  light  shine  upon  our  ordination  ?  You 
may  have  scores  of  ministers  to  attend  you,  besides  the  gal 
lant  knight  Edward,  who,  I  understand,  is  fining  to  New 
York,  as  Cogswell  goes  to  Paris,  '  to  study.1  Whether  his 
researches  are  to  be  confined  to  Greek,  or  to  the  more  dif- 


Life  and  Letters.  147 

ficult  language  of  a  lady's  eye,  he  has  not  yet  announced." 

•  *.**'• 


Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  Channing. 

"  New  York,  February  si,  1822. 

•**#*«!  am  grieved  to  hear  that  your  brother  William 
is  suffering,  as  you  prophesied,  from  the  climate  of  Boston. 
I  hope  you  will  send  him  South  with  the  opening  of  the 
spring.  I  am  quite  pleased  to  hear  of  Mr.  Dewey's  success 
among  you.  He  is  a  neighbor  of  ours  in  the  country,  and,  I 
believe,  deserves  the  favor  he  has  found.  William  Ware  is 
growing  in  our  hearts  very  fast.  As  far  as  preaching  in  the 
pulpit  and  the  preaching  of  example  goes,  he  takes  excel 
lent  care  of  our  spiritual  concerns.  Do  you  ever  hear  Walk 
er  ?  We  think  him  a  tremendous  great  gun — destined  to  be 
one  of  the  first  men  in  the  country.  He  has  the  vigor  of 
Hossuet — Bossuet  converted  to  rational  Christianity.  *  *  * 

"  I  hope  you  have  read  the  Pirate  with  delight  as  we  have. 
It  certainly  is  a  highly  poetical  production.  Who  but  Wai- 
tor  Scott  could  have  created  such  a  scene  on  a  barren  isle 
of  the  Northern  Ocean  !  The  world  here  is  divided  into 
ihe  followers  of  Minna  and  Brenda.  They  seem  to  me  the 
Aiir  representatives  of  this  world  and  a  higher.  *  *  *  *  I 
have  written  amid  female  chatterers  talking  to  me  and  at 
me.  You  must  forgive  me  for  sending  the  letter  ;  but  I  am 
afraid  you  will  think  as  Dr.  Johnson  did  about  the  dinner, 
which  did  well  enough,  but  was  not  a  dinner  to  invite  a  man 
to."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Sedgwick  fj  her  brother  C/iarles. 

"  New  York,  Feb.  22,  1822. 

"  I  was  much  obliged  to  you,  my  dear  brother  and  sister, 
for  your  letters,  brief  as  they  were.  There  are  no  days  so 
bright  as  those  that  bring  me  letters  from  home,  and  when 


148  Lift:  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

I  think  that  not  one  this  winter  has  conveyed  any  unpleas 
ant  intelligence,  I  rejoice  with  trembling.     This  unexampled 
exemption  from  the  certain  evils  of  life,  throughout  a  large 
family  circle,  can  not  last ;  the  day  of  adversity  must  come, 
and  God  grant  that  we  may  meet  it  with  unwavering  confi 
dence  in  his  goodness,  with  humble  resignation  to  his  will, 
and  with  a  grateful  remembrance  of  past  mercies.     We  have 
had  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  from  a  glimpse  of  Bryant.     I 
never  saw  him  so  happy,  nor  half  so  agreeable.     I  think  he 
is  very  much  animated  with  his  prospects.     Heaven  grant 
that  they  may  be  more  than  realized.     I  sometimes  feel 
some  misgivings  about  it ;  but  I  think  it  is  impossible  that, 
in  the  increasing  demand  for  native  literature,  a  man  of  his 
resources,  who  has  justly  thejfrst  reputation,  should  not  be 
able  to  command  a  competency.     He  has  good  sense  too, 
good  judgment  and  moderation,  and  never  was  a  man  bless 
ed  with  a  warmer  friend  than  he  has  in  Harry.    This  is  one 
sure  anchor  in  all  winds  and  weather ;  and  besides  Harry, 
there  are  many  persons  here  who  enter  warmly  into  his 
cause.     He  seems  so  modest  that  every  one  seems  eager  to 
prove  to  him  the  merit  of  which  he  appears  unconscious.     I 
wish  you  had  seen  him  last  evening.     Mrs.  Nicholas  was 
here,  and  half  a  dozen  gentlemen.     She  was  ambitious  to 
recite  before  Bryant.     She  was  very  becomingly  dressed  for 
the  grand  ball  to  which  she  was  going,  and,  wrought  up  to 
her  highest  pitch  of  excitement,  she  recited  her  favorite 
pieces  better  than  I  ever  heard  her,  and  concluded  the 
whole,  without  request  or  any  note  of  preparation,  by  '  The 
Water-fowl*  and  '  Thanatopsts.'     Bryant's  face, '  brightened 
all  over/  was  one  gleam  of  light,  and,  I  am  certain,  at  the 
moment  he  felt  the  ecstasy  of  a  poet." 

The  engagement  of  her  last  unmarried  brother,  Robert,  to 
Miss  Elizabeth  Ellery,  of  Newport,  Rhode  Island,  who  was 


JLffe  and  Jl,etters.  149 

at  the  time  a  stranger  to  all  his  family,  was  the  occasion  of 
the  following  letter  from  Miss  Sedgwick  to  her  sister: 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Afrs.  Watson. 

"  New  York,  February,  1822. 

"  Robert  feels  his  happiness  very  incomplete  till  he  has 
the  expression  of  his  friends'  sympathy,  and  he  was  sadly 
disappointed  this  morning  not  to  get  a  letter  from  you  or 
from  Susan  on  the  subject.  I  trust  they  are  on  the  way,  for 
you  know  any  want  of  interest  in  others  when  our  own  feel 
ings  are  strongly  excited  is  very  painful ;  and  no  one  knows 
or  feels  more  than  you,  my  dear  sister,  the  right  of  this  dear 
brother  to  all  our  hearts  can  feel  or  our  tongues  express. 
Jane  and  I  have  made  up  our  minds  that  you  will  take  a 
great  fancy  to  Elizabeth.  She  is  certainly  a  great  provo 
cative  'to  the  imagination.  She  is  gaining  on  us  all,  and  I 
think,  from  all  I  can  learn  of  her,  she  must  have  a  high-prin 
cipled  character.  She  has  a  very  bright,  intelligent  face, 
without  being  handsome.  Allston  has  selected  her  eye  for 
a  picture  of  a  prophetess,  and  it  has  the  expression  of  a  seer 
into  futurity.  For  my  own  part,  my  dear  sister,!  have  tasked 
myself  to  the  duty  of  resignation  with  more  fortitude  than 
you  would  expect.  I  am  through  the  worst  of  it.  Indeed, 
I  have  so  much  cause  for  gratitude  that  a  repining  thought 
brings  the  sting  of  guilt  with  it." 

Mr.  Robert  Sedgtvick  to  Miss  Sedgwick. 

"February,  1822. 

"  You  will  never  know,  my  beloved  sister,  so  long  as  the 
obstructions  of  sense  stand  between  heart  and  heart,  how 
mine  has  been  melted  by  your  kind  and  generous  conduct. 
I  know,  my  dear,  that  all  you  have  suffered  has  proceeded 
from  a  love  of  which  I  am  unworthy.  *  *  *  *  It  is  a  very 
common  sentiment  that  a  sister  must  give  up  her  place  in  a 


150  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

brother's  heart  when  his  wife  takes  possession  of  it.  If  this 
were  so,  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  you  ever  reconciled  to  my 
marriage.  But,  if  I  know  aught  of  true  love,  instead  of  con 
tracting  the  heart,  it  gives  new  strength  to  all  its  best  affec 
tions.  Upon  what  do  all  these  affections  depend  for  their 
cultivation  and  growth,  if  not  upon  the  objects  of  common 
sympathy  and  interest?  He  who  made  the  heart  never 
ordained  that  its  empires  should  be  like  those  which  are 
marked  off  on  the  surface  of  the  earth.  He  has  never  ap 
pointed  that  a  sister's  portion  should  be  taken  away  to  be 
given  to  a  wife." 

Mr.  JRobert  Satgivick  to  Miss  Sc<lgiuic&  on  f/te  eve  of  '/us 
Marriage. 

"IsTcw  York,  August  9,  1822. 

*  *  *  *  "  Though  I  am  in  the  greatest  possible  confusion 
and  hurry,  I  can  not  leave  town  without  telling  you  that  my 
heart  never  turned  toward  you  or  leaned  upon  you  with 
more  pure,  faithful,  ardent,  and  confiding  affection  than  at 
this  moment.  God  reward  you,  my  beloved  sistor,  for  all 
you  have  been  to  me,  and  enable  me  to  cherish  a  tender 
and  unalterable  sense  of  all  I  owe  you.  I  know  nothing 
that  would  alarm  me  so  much  for  myself  as  a  consciousness 
that  I  was  losing  my  love  for  you." 

Up  to  this  time  Miss  Sedgwick  appears  never  to  have 
thought  of  writing  for  the  public.  She  says,  in  a  letter  to 
one  of  her  friends,  so  late  as  February,  1821,  "My  dear 
brother  Theodore  makes  a  most  extravagant  estimate  of  my 
powers.  It  is  one  thing  to  write  a  spurt  of  a  letter,  and  an 
other  to  write  a  book  ;"  and  if  her  first  book  had  not  been 
almost  as  unpremeditated  as  a  letter,  it  is  possible  that  her 
modesty  might  for  some  time  longer  have  repressed  a  talent 
as  delicate  as  decided.  But  now,  after  her  connection  with 


JLife  and  jLcttcrs.  151 

the  Unitarian  Society,  her  recovered  intellectual  freedom, 
and  the  desire  to  help  others  to  escape  from  the  chains 
which  she  had  broken,  led  her  to  write  a  short  story  bearing 
on  these  points,  which  she  at  first  intended  for  a  tract.  On 
showing  it  to  her  brother  Harry,  he  advised  her  to  give  it 
a  larger  form  and  scope,  and  print  it  as  a  tale,  and  in  this 
way  the  "  New  England  Tale"  appeared  in  1822,  and  was  at 
once  received  with  such  interest  and  favor  as  to  give  its 
author  an  immediate  position  in  the  world  of  American  lit 
erature. 

Miss  Sedgwick  showed  her  sound  judgment  and  artistic 
intuition  in  this  her  first  romance  by  planting  it  upon  her 
native  soil,  where  people  and  incidents  could  be  used  with 
the  freedom  given  only  by  long  familiarity.  She  struck 
here  the  key-note  of  ail  her  after  success.  Her  dramatic 
power  lay  in  her  thorough  knowledge  of  the  strength  and 
weaknesses  of  the  New  England  character.  Though  her 
genuine  love  of  romance  sometimes  betrayed  her  into  scenes 
and  situations  tinged  by  sentimental  moonlight  rather  than 
by  the  honest  light  of  day,  she  is  always  natural  and  dis 
criminative  when  her  foot  is  on  her  "  native  heath ;"  and 
whether  it  is  the  country  folk  of  to-day,  with  their  quaint 
peculiarities,  whom  she  describes,  or  the  same  people  under 
Shaker  rule,  or  roused  by  revolutionary  feeling,  or,  still  far 
ther  back,  as  settlers  of  the  forest,  Puritan  fighters  against 
the  wolves,  the  Indians,  the  world,  and  the  devil,  or  whether 
it  is  the  same  stock  refined  by  culture  and  placed  in  the 
midst  of  modern  social  elegance,  her  creations  are  real  and 
living  persons,  drawn  with  a  truth  and  vigor  which  give 
them  a  freehold  right  in  the  land  of  fiction,  from  the  half 
witted  and  whole- hearted  Kisel  of  the  "  Lin  woods"  to  the 
lovely,  impulsive,  and  fascinating  Hope  Leslie,  and  the  ex 
cellent  and  uncompromising  Miss  Debby  in  "  Redwood." 

The  New  England  Tale  was  received  with  enthusiastic 


152  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedg-tuick* 

pride  by  her  brothers.     Mr.  Theodore  Sedgwick  wrote  as 
follows  : 

"  Stockbridge,  May  6,  1822. 

"DEAR  KATE, — I  have  read  130  pages  of  the  book.  It 
exceeds  all  my  expectations,  fond  and  flattering  as  they 
were.  I  can  not  express  to  you  with  what  pride  and  pleas 
ure  my  heart  is  filled.  I  had  no  doubt  of  the  result,  but 
hope  and  anticipation  are  now  converted  by  the  happy  real 
ity  to  fact  and  knowledge.  I  shall  not  rest  till  I  have  seen 
the  whole,  and  beg  that  you  will  let  me  know  when  I  shall 
also  greet  the  architect  of  this  exquisitely  beautiful  fabric. 
Dear  Kate,  we  are  in  rather  a  moody  state  here  for  the  want 
of  your  society." 

And  her  brother  Harry,  in  a  more  business-like  letter,  ex 
presses  no  less  gratification. 

"  New  York,  May  25,  1822. 

"Jane  had  a  large  packet  of  letters  to-day  from  Boston, 
all  of  them  praising  the  tale.  What  is  much  better,  Bliss 
White  has  increased  orders  from  the  booksellers.  Bliss  told 
me  to-day  that  the  public  had  just  begun  to  find  it  out ;  that 
its  sale  was  dull  at  first,  but  now  it  was  going  off  very  rapid 
ly,  and  much  beyond  his  expectations,  and  would  soon  be 
entirely  exhausted.  In  the  course  of  a  few  days  I  will  send 
you  a  draft  of  the  Preface  for  the  second  edition  for  your 
approbation.  Let  Theodore  also  try  his  hand  at  it.  He 
has  a  good  knack  at  such  things.  Bliss  says  that  the  only 
difficulty  with  the  book  is  the  unfavorable  representation  of 
the  New  England  character,  and  that  the  writer  must  bring 
out  something  of  the  same  kind  in  which  this  mistake  shall 
be  corrected.  I  think  he  is  right. 

"  I  think,  dear  Kate,  that  your  destiny  is  now  fixed.  As 
you  are  so  much  of  a  Bibleist,  I  only  say,  don't  put  your 
light  under  a  bushel.  Your  work  came  out  under  the  most 


and  Letters.  153 

unfavorable  circumstances.  The  title  (though  taking)  is 
certainly  unlucky  ;  that's  my  fault.  The  orthodox  do  all 
they  can  to  put  it  clown  ;  Carter's  notice  casts  a  damp,  and 
the  New-Englanders  feel  miffed.  Still,  it  has  decided  suc 
cess  from  its  own  merits ;  so  have  done  with  these  woman 
ish  fears.  I  don't  know  of  any  thing  which  now  gives  me 
so  much  excitement  as  the  certain  prospect  of  your  future 
eminence.  I  wish  you  to  keep  me  constantly  informed  of 
your  plans,  and  how  far  they  get  into  execution.  I  think 
you  will  find  great  advantage  in  writing  in  disconnected 
masses,  which  you  can  afterward  weave  together.  In  this 
way  you  may  save  your  bright  ideas  when  they  are  brightest 
and  most  interesting. 

Miss  Scttgivick  to  Mrs.  Frank  Channing. 

"  New  York,  Sunday  evening,  1822. 

"  I  do  not  know,  my  dear  Mrs.  Channing,  but  I  should 
call  any  tolerably  Christian,  neighbor-like  treatment  from 
you  better  than  my  deserts,  but  that  which  I  receive  is  so 
much  better  that  I  have  not  words  to  express  my  gratitude. 
Your  kind  interest  in  my  concerns  is  a  part  of  your  own 
generous  nature,  and  is  so  entirely  independent  of  any  mer 
it  in  me,  that  I  feel  as  humble  as  Calvinists  profess  to  feel, 
and  as  all  should  feel  on  this  subject  of  merit.  My  book  1 
If  all  poor  authors  feel  as  I  have  felt  since  obtruding  my 
self  upon  the  notice  of  the  world,  I  only  wonder  that  the  lu 
natic  asylum  is  not  filled  with  them.  I  hardly  know  any 
treasure  I  would  not  exchange  to  be  where  I  was  before  my 
crow-tracks  passed  into  the  hands  of  printer's  devils.  I  be 
gan  that  little  story  for  a  tract,  and  because  I  wanted  some 
pursuit,  and  felt  spiritless  and  sad,  and  thought  I  might  per 
haps  (at  least  I  was  persuaded  that  I  might)  lend  a  helping' 
hand  to  some  of  the  humbler  and  unnoticed  virtues.  I  had 
no  plans,  and  the  story  took  a  turn  that  seemed  to  render 

G  2 


154  JLife  of  Cat  ha  ri  ltd  Jlf.  Sedgwick. 

it  quite  unsuitable  for  a  tract,  and  after  I  had  finished  it  I 
was  persuaded  to  publish  it.  I  claim  nothing  for  it  on  the 
score  of  literary  merit.  I  have  some  consolation  in  the  con 
viction  that  the  moral  is  good,  and  that  to  the  young  and 
simple  in  our  country-towns,  if  into  the  hands  of  any  such  it 
should  fall,  it  may  be  of  some  service.  I  am  more  anxious 
than  I  can  express  to  you  to  remain  unknown,  but  that,  I 
fear,  is  impossible  now.  One  source  of  thankfulness  and 
rightful,  honest,  joyful  pride  I  have  in  an  eminent  degree. 
Criticism  has  been  disarmed  by  affection,  and  from  my  dear 
est  and  nearest  friends  I  have  received  such  expressions  of 
interest  and  sympathy  as  I  shall  never  forget,  and  never 
cease  to  be  thankful  for.  *  *  *  * 

"  I  have  at  last  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  and  admir 
ing  your  friend  Greenwood.*  I  am  sure  he  must  have  a  de 
lightful  character.  I  mean  I  should  be  sure  if  you  had  not 
told  me  so,  though  you  may  upbraid  me  with  my  slowness 
in  finding  it  out.  The  truth  is,  that  when  you  hear  so  much 
of  any  person  as  I  had  heard  of  Mr.  Greenwood,  you  expect 
to  be  astonished  as  with  a  sudden  blaze  of  light,  and  man 
ners  so  unostentatious,  and  conversation  so  unpretending 
as  his,  seem  quite  commonplace.  If  you  were  not  too  good 
to  be  envied,  and  if  I  did  not  try  to  be  too  good  to  envy,  I 
might  be  in  danger  of  looking  with  an  evil  eye  upon  the 
privilege  you  enjoy  of  his  fine  society."  *  *  *  * 


Jlf/ss  Sedgwick  to  Afrs. 

••  Stockbriclge,  June  15,  1822. 

"  I  am  sorry,  my  dear  Mrs.  Channing,  that  you  should 
ever,  in  regard  to  any  instance  of  your  interest  in  me,  doubt 
of  my  gratitude.  I  must  be  constituted  strangely  if  I  did 
not  acknowledge  and  feel  your  zeal  for  my  happiness  and 
improvement,  and  if  I  have  ever  seemed  to  disregard  it,  it 
*  Rev.  13r.  Greenwood,  of  Boston. 


Life  and  Letters.  155 

must  have  been  from  reasons  that  you  could  not  know,  and 
therefore  could  not  discreetly  weigh  as  I  could.  I  am  not 
at  all  prepared  for  many  of  the  advantages  that  might  be 
reaped  from  a  voyage  to  Europe,  and  as  to  happiness,  I  have 
had  such  an  old-fashioned  bringing  up,  that  there  is  no 
equivalent  to  me  for  the  pleasures  of  home,  the  voices  and 
the  smiles  of  brothers  and  sisters,  and  the  caresses  of  chil 
dren.  I  should  be  ashamed  to  confess  to  the  learned  and 
the  literary  that  there  is  nothing  distant  and  foreign  that  has 
such  charms  to  my  imagination  as  the  haunts  about  my  own 
home,  a  chase  along  the  banks  of  our  little  stream  with  the 
children,  breaking  willow-sticks  for  the  boys,  and  helping 
the  girls  to  get  the  flowers,  and  devising  and  leading  their 
sports.  I  am  perfectly  conscious  that  this  is  all  very  rustic 
and  antiquated,  but  it  is  my  taste,  and  that  word,  you  know, 
silences  dispute,  as  the  shout  of  my  merry  troop  of  revelers 
stops  pursuit  when  they  cry  *  Screw  up.'  Forgive  me  \  you 
can  not  understand  the  technics  of  our  sports.  It  would 
have  given  me  pure  delight  to  have  seen  you,  my  dear  friend, 
and  Eliza  Cabot  at  Stockbridge,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for 
a  homely  but  wise  adage  of  my  old  nurse,  who  used,  on  the 
occurrence  of  an  irremediable  evil,  to  say,  *  Don't  cry,  child, 
for  spilt  milk/  I  might  have  bewailed  your  not  coming  in  a 
very  unsuitable  manner  for  a  grown-up  woman.  I  should 
have  delighted  to  have  rambled  over  our  hills,  and  along 
the  margin  of  our  quiet,  modest  little  river  with  you,  now 
when  Nature  has  her  beautiful  garments  on,  unworn  and 
unsullied,  the  earth  every  where  sending  forth  its  promise, 
and  fragrance  and  melody  finding  their  way  to  the  imagina 
tion  through  their  appointed  paths.  Social  and  animated  as 
you  both  are,  I  would  not  have  you  think  your  intercourse 
would  be  limited  to  trees  and  brooks.  My  brother  and  sis 
ter  are  good  cotnfany  for  any  body.  Our  dear  Charles,  you 
know,  we  look  up  to  as  one  of  Nature's  chefs-d'oeuvre;  his 


156  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Scdgwick. 

wife  is  a  very  fine  and  charming  woman,  and  their  little  girl 
seems  made  '  to  envelop  and  contain  celestial  spirits.1  So 
much  for  our  family  circle  (and,  from  pure  modesty,  I  have 
omitted  three  other  wonderful  children,  and  an  old  lady,  who 
has  the  virtues  of  the  patriarchs,  and  the  improvements  of 
modern  times),  and  beyond  the  enchanted  precincts  where 
you  may  suspect  the  spell  of  egotism,  we  have  Col.  Dwight, 
who  is  aufait  in  all  the  arts  and  graces  of  the  beau-monde, 
and  an  JSast  Indian  (not  a  Housatonic)  philosopher,  a  man 
of  genius,  of  experience,  of  observation,  highly  gifted  in  the 
powers  of  conversation,  in  short,  quite  a  study.  Besides  all 
this  galaxy,  we  have  just  now  a  wandering  luminary  from 
England,  a  gentleman  of  science,  who  travels  with  a  fine  tel 
escope,  and  all  manner  of  wonderful  instruments,  and  with 
whom  the  family  are  to  sit  up  all  night  star-gazing  as  soon 
as  the  planets  mend  their  ways  in  so  far  as  to  rise  a  little 
earlier.  I  should  be  delighted  to  visit  Boston  in  the  course 
of  the  summer,  but  I  should  neither  go  nor  stay  with  any 
reference  to  my  little  tract.  I  protest  against  being  sup 
posed  to  make  any  pretension  as  an  author ;  my  production 
is  a  very  small  affair  any  way,  and  only  intended  for  the 
young  and  the  humble,  and  not  for  you  erudite  pro-di-gi-ous 
Boston  folks.  I  should  rejoice  to  see  again  my  old  friends 
that  I  dearly  love,  and  your  friends,  so  worthy  of  being 
loved  ;  and  that  I  could  add  any  thing  to  your  happiness,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Charming,  is  temptation  enough.  Some  of  my 
friends  here  have,  as  I  learn,  been  a  little  troubled,  but,  aft 
er  the  crime  of  confessed  Unitarianism,  nothing  can  sur 
prise  them  ;  these  are  only  the  most  bigoted  ;  and,  for  the 
most  part,  my  friends  are  just  as  cordial  as  ever,  some  more 
so,  and  I  do  not  despair  of  convincing  the  most  prejudiced 
that  I  am  not  a  Mohammedan,  nor  an  atheist,  nor  even  an 
apostate.  I  love  my  own  people  and  my  own  home  too  well 
to  resign  or  abandon  either,  and  I  have  good  hope  of  living 


Life  and  Letters.  157 

to  laugh  with  them  over  our  present  difference,  and  if  we  do 
not  in  this  world,  I  am  pretty  sure  we  shall  in  another.* 
When  you  see  my  dear  friend  Mrs.  Minot,  do  remember  me 
most  affectionately  to  her.  It  does  not  seem  to  me  possible 
that  your  wing  should  ever  tire,  that  you  should  ever  need 
any  excitement  to  the  perpetual  spring  within.  Do  you 
know  when  our  countryman  Dewey  is  coming  this  way  ?  I 
quite  long  to  look  upon  a  Christian  minister  who  does  not 
regard  me  as  a  heathen  and  a  publican.  Do  write  to  me 
soon  ;  out  of  the  fullness  of  your  generous  heart  distill  upon 
us  some  drops.  Farewell,  my  dear  friend. 

"  Ever  truly  yours,  C.  M.  SEDGWICK." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  Channing. 

'•  Stockbridgc,  August  17, 1822. 

*  #  *  *  «  Now,  while  I  am  on  controverted  points  with 
you,  I  wish  to  set  you  right  in  relation  to  a  mistake  of  yours 
about  the  feeling  which  your  letter  on  the  subject  of  my  lit 
tle  book  excited.     I  was  not  hurt.     I  simply  wished  to  con 
vince  you  that  I  neither  grounded  fears  nor  claims  on  that 
humble  production.     I  could  not  endure  the  idea  that  I  had 
written  myself  out  of  the  affections  of  my  own  people.    Here 
is  the  home  of  my  heart,  and  though  there  is  undoubtedly 
some  transient  dissatisfaction,  my  friends  here  love  me  bet 
ter  than  those  who  have  not  been  bred  up  with  me  can. 
They  think,  as  they  express  themselves,  that  I  am  in  a  dread 
ful  error,  but  I  believe  they  would  for  the  most  part  concur 
in  an  expression  I  heard  reported  from  the  good  little  wife 
of  our  parson,  *  I  hope  you  do  not  love  her  the  less  for  it.' 
I  do  not  say  this  boasungly;  I  believe  it  is  right  that  we 

*  An  excellent  aunt  of  Miss  Sedgwick,  who  was  very  fond  of  her,  said 
to  her  one  day,  as  they  were  parting,  alter  Miss  Sedgwick  had  become 
an  avowed  Unitarian,  "  Come  and  see  me  as  often  as  you  can,  dear,  for 
you  know,  after  this  world,  we  shall  never  meet  again.0 


158  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

should  feel  more  pleasure  in  the  affection  of  our  inferiors 
than  in  the  praise  of  our  superiors,  and  nothing  could  in 
demnify  me  for  the  loss  of  the  kind  feeling  of  my  humble 
country  neighbors."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Mrs.  Pomeroy. 

"  New  York,  January  10, 1823. 

"  Thank  you,  dear  Eliza,  for  inquiring  after  our  Church. 
Mr.  Ware,  we  think,  improves  constantly;  his  sermons  have 
a  more  serious,  or  what  is  called  evangelical  character.  Re 
ligious  experience  is,  I  think,  the  work  of  time,  and  you  can 
not  expect  a  very  young  man  to  be  as  skillful  in  teaching  as 
one  more  mature,  who  knows  from  personal  observation  and 
actual  experience  the  wants  of  human  oature  and  the  power 
of  religion.  Mr.  Ware's  character  is  an  excellent  one,  and  I 
doubt  not  will  abide  severe  scrutiny.  He  is  so  modest  and 
unpretending,  his  talents  so  respectable  and  his  application 
so  steady,  that  he  must  command  every  one's  respect ;  and 
then,  you  know,  *  when  a  man's  ways  please  the  Lord,  he 
maketh  even  his  enemies  to  be  at  peace  with  him.'  We  are 
just  now  very  busy  about  establishing  a  charity-school,  and 
we  hope  soon  to  get  it  in  operation.  Our  plan  is  to  have  it 
kept  in  one  of  the  lower  rooms  of  the  church  by  a  woman, 
and  superintended  by  the  ladies.  We  mean  to  teach  the 
children  the  rudiments  of  learning,  and  how  to  mend  and 
make  their  clothes,  darn  their  stockings,  etc.  Our  society 
is  small,  and  far  from  rich,  but  we  hope  to  accomplish  it. 
Egbert  dined  with  us  on  Friday.  He  enters  into  our  wishes 
with  considerable  zeal,  and  promises  to  do  every  thing  we 
wish.  Is  it  not  good  to  interest  young  men  in  works  of  be 
nevolence  ?" 


Life  and  Letters.  159 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  her  niece^  Miss  Watson. 

"New  York,  January  22,  1823. 

"  The  last,  my  dear  Catharine,  has  been  a  year  of  partic 
ular  interest  to  you.  It  has  witnessed  your  entrance  upon 
a  period  of  life  when  you  begin  to  feel,  more  deeply  than 
light-hearted  youth  can  feel,  your  own  responsibility ;  it  has 
witnessed  the  maturing  of  your  principles,  and  the  begin 
ning  of  purposes  of  usefulness  and  generous  devotion  to  the 
good  of  others.  And  it  has  witnessed  the  public  dedication 
of  yourself  to  the  service  of  our  Lord  and  Savior.  This  is 
a  most  important  and  affecting  event  in  your  life.  It  does 
not,  perhaps,  create  any  new  duties,  but  it  certainly  suggests 
new  motives  to  exertion  and  fidelity,  that  the  world,  before 
whom  you  have  done  this,  may  never  call  in  question  the 
laws  of  the  Master  because  the  servant  is  faithless.  What 
manner  of  persons,  my  dear  Kate,  ought  we  to  be,  seeing 
that  the  kingdom  of  our  Master  must  be  established  in  our 
hearts ;  seeing  that  it  is  not  enough  to  hear,  but  we  must 
obey ;  not  only  promise,  but  do  the  will  of  our  Lord,  who 
has  come,  not  to  save  us  in  our  sins,  but  from  our  sins  ? 
Heaven  must  be  begun  here.  We  must  be  watchful  not  to 
admit,  certainly  not  to  permit  or  to  cherish,  any  passion  or 
affection  which  can  not  enter  into  those  mansions  that  are 
prepared  for  the  followers  of  the  Lamb — that  can  not  abide 
the  pure  light  of  the  Sun  of  Righteousness.  God  grant  to 
us  the  influences  of  his  Spirit  to  strengthen  every  thing  that 
is  good  and  resist  every  thing  that  is  evil  within  and  with 
out  us." 

Mis s  Sedgwick  to  Mr.  Robert  Sedgwick. 

"  Stockbridge,  June  1 1,  1823. 

"  Thank  you,  dearest  Robert,  for  your  kind,  very  kind  let 
ter.  It  came  unexpectedly,  and  made  my  heart  dance,  like 


160  JLtfe  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

a  sunny  ray  darting  through  a  cloud.      No  one  knows  how 
I  prize  every  tender  expression  from  you,  nor  how  necessary 
they  are  to  me,  nor  how  much  I  try  to  make  them  less  nec 
essary.     I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  that  Elizabeth  is  better.     I 
have  thought  of  her  constantly  and  with  great  anxiety  since 
I  left  you,  and  have  longed  to  have  her  here,  where  every 
thing  breathes  such  a  healthful  and  cheering  influence.     It 
is  not  the  habits  of  youth,  it  is  not  the  prejudice  of  over 
weening  partiality  that  makes  this  spot  so  beautiful  in  our 
eyes.      It  is  a  paradise — one  of  Nature's  temples,  and  oh, 
how  unlike  those  built  by  man,  where  the  drowsy  worshipers 
reason  themselves  into  a  languid  devotion  !     Here  love  and 
joy,  and  peace  and  praise  are  the  spontaneous  language  of 
the  heart,  and  all  in  sweet  accord  with  the  voice  that  com- 
eth  from  the  mountains  and  the  meadows,  the  waving  branch 
es  and  the  frolic  shadows.     But  I  grow  too  romantic,  and 
you,  immersed  in  Cedar  Street,  will  laugh  at  my  rusticity. 
I  am  afraid  of  furnishing  food  for  Lizzy's  and  Harriet's  mer 
riment.     If  it  had   not  been   for  my  dread  of  farewells,  I 
think  I  should  have  gone  back  with  you  from  the  steam-boat. 
We  were  horribly  crowded.     Pamela  and  I  were  obliged 
to  sit  up  and  snatch  what  sleep  we  could  with  our  heads 
leaning  against  a  post,  and  a  *  most  foul  and  pestilent  con 
gregation  of  vapors'  settling  about  us  ;  they  were  quite  too 
dense  to  float.     Pamela  contrived  to  find  provocation  to 
laughter,  while  I  was  supported  by  the  brevity  of  the  trial. 
I  found  David  Ingersoll  awaiting  me  with  the  colts  that  had 
given  his  parents  a  somerset  over  the  meeting-house  hill. 
They  brought  me  safely  home,  however,  and  I  found  our 
dear  sistet  and  her  family  all  well  and  cheery.     I  went  the 
next  day  to  Lenox,  and  staid  till  Sunday,  and  I  find  of  our 
blessed  Charles  that  '  wherever  the  Duchess  of  Gordon  is, 
there  is  the  Duchess  of  Gordon.'     No  matter  where  his  body 
is,  it  envelops  and  contains  the  same  celestial  spirit.    Eliza- 


Life  and  Letters. 

both,  too,  is  as 'affectionate  and  charming  as  possible,  and 
the  children,  I  think,  as  dear  to  me  as  if  they  were  my  own. 
Charles  is  a  princely  child.  Kitty  has  not  changed  in  the 
least,  but  Charles  has  improved  incredibly,  and,  I  think,  is 
the  noblest,  sweetest  little  dog  I  ever  saw.  He  looks  as  if 
he  would  grace  the  lion's  skin  that  Richard  wore,  and  is  as 
gentle  as  his  father.  Dear  little  Kit  was  so  glad  to  see  me 
that  she  forsook  all  others  and  cleaved  unto  me." 

Miss  Settgwick  to  Mrs.  IVatson. 

"  Stockbridge,  October  14,  1823. 

"  I  was  rejoiced  and  grateful,  my  dear  Frances,  when  you 
were  here,  to  see  that  you  had  the  enjoyment  of  a  peaceful, 
and,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  of  a  beatified  spirit ;  for  the  light 
of  your  face  expressed  that  most  emphatic  language  of  re 
ligious  resignation  and  happiness  which  says  '  it  is  well  with 
me.1  Can  we  doubt  that  these  jubilees  of  the  spirit  come 
from  a  heavenly  ministration  ;  that  He  who  has  provided  all 
his  creatures  a  seventh  day  of  rest,  and  who  commanded 
that  the  seventh  year  should  be  a  year  of  freedom  to  the 
servant,  supplies  to  those  who,  like  you,  dear  sister,  have 
given  their  hearts  to  Him,  periods  of  repose,  release,  and 
holy  joy  that  the  children  of  this  world  know  not  of?  This 
home,  so  precious  to  us  all,  seems  to  have  been  consecrated 
by  the  spirit  of  love.  In  all  the  changes  that  have  taken 
place  here,  that  affection  which  from  our  tenderest  years 
presided  over  us,  has  still  softened  and  blessed  every  vicis 
situde. 

"  I  had  like  to  have  forgotten  to  tell  you  that  I  have  re 
ceived  a  very  gratifying  letter  from  Miss  Edgeworth.  This 
is  quite  an  epoch  in  my  humble,  quiet  life.  The  letter  is 
entirely  satisfactory  to  me,  though  some  of  my  kind  friends 
would  fain  believe  that  she  ought  to  have  buttered  me  up 
more," 


1 62  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 


Mr.  Harry  Sedgwick  to  Miss  Sedgwick. 

*  •  "New  York,  June,  1824. 

"  DEAR  CATHARINE, — I  have  no  doubt  that  you  will  be 
ready  at  once  to  forego  all  personal  emolument  in  regard  to 
the  New  England  Tale,  and  accede  to  Mr.  H.'s  request  to 
print  a  cheap  edition  of  3000  for  circulation.  I  think  there 
*  are  several  objections  to  this  plan.  ist.  It  is  desirable  that 
the  new  edition  be  printed  under  the  supervision  of  a  friend. 
2d.  If  brought  forward  professedly  as  a  controversial  article 
(as  I  think  it  would  be  under  Mr.  H.'s  auspices),  it  will  not 
be  so  useful  as  it  would  be  if  considered  simply  a  literary 
effort.  3d.  I  have  some  doubt  whether  Mr.  H.'s  application 
is  any  thing  more  than  an  individual  impulse.  4th.  You 
would  have  the  air  of  a  champion  for  the  liberal  party.  I 
think  that  if  a  second  edition  is  to  come  out,  it  should  come 
at  once.  If  people  can't  get  books  when  they  want  them, 
they  borrow,  or  the  want  goes  over.  The  present  edition  is 
more  than  two  thirds  disposed  of." 

Miss  Setlgwick  to  Mr.  Robtrt  Scdgwiek. 

"  Lenox,  November  i,  1824. 

"  I  have  broken  off,  my  dear  Robert,  from  discoursing 
with  the  Misses  Piety,  Prudence,  and  Charity,  in  the  Pil 
grim's  Progress,  to  indite  a  scroll  to  you,  the  which  it  hath 
long  been  in  my  heart  to  send  you.  Poor  Charles  and  Liz 
zy  have  trudged  up  the  hill  Difficulty  to  wait  on  the  preach 
ing  of  Parson  S.  One  sermon  a  day  is  quite  as  much  as  I 
have  grace  to  listen  to.  I  have  pretty  much  settled  myself 
in  the  opinion  that  the  advantages  of  public  worship,  the 
edification  of  the  example,  etc.,  are  more  than  counterbal 
anced  by  the  apparent  sufferance  of  doctrines  dishonorable 
to  Christianity,  and  by  the  certain  growth  of  habits  of  list- 
lessness  and  indifference,  which  are  the  least  offensive  states 


Life  and  Letters.  163 

of  mind  induced  by  such  preaching.  However,  as  I  am 
aware  that  my  inclinations  are  enlisted  on  one  side  of  the 
argument,  I  have  some  distrust  of  the  result,  and  so  I  com 
promise  the  matter  by  going  half  the  day.  *  *  *  *  I  find 
that,  though  I  have  never  contemplated  Charles's  removal 
here  with  any  resignation,  now  that  the  evil  has  become  in 
evitable,  and  that  he  is  really  fixed  here,  I  perceive  many 
beauties  that  I  have  before  been  quite  blind  to.  And  as  I 
stand  at  the  window,  and  gaze  on  the  hills  that  stretch  be 
fore  me  in  every  variety  of  height  and  position,  the  sun 
sends  his  gleamy  smiles  along  their  summits  almost  as 
pleasantly  as  on  our  own  mountains ;  and  the  little  lake 
that  sparkles  in  the  valley,  now  that  its  leafy  veil  has  fallen, 
is  plainly  seen  from  these  windows,  and  is  a  faint  consola 
tion  for  the  absence  of  our  river.  Still  I  fear  I  shall  never 
look  upon  Charles  here  without  feeling  that  he  is  a  stranger 
and  an  exile  ;  and  I  am  sure  that  in  my  musings  I  shall  al 
ways  build  castles  in  my  native  air,  and  people  them  with 
all  those,  dear  Robert,  who  were  the  companions  of  my 
childhood.'1 

Miss  Stdgwick  to  Mr.  Charles  Sedgwifk. 

"Steam-boat  Kent,  November  19,  1824. 

"  I  wrote  you  a  line  to-day  from  the  steam-boat  office, 
where  we  had  arrived  after  hurrying  poor  little  Charles,  who 
was  never  hurried  before,  till  I  believe  he  thought  the  world 
would  be  turned  upside  down  with  the  velocity  of  the  wag 
on-wheels,  which  moved  at  the  rate  of  five  miles  an  hour. 
Well,  there  we  staicl-/5>//r  hours,  which  were,  in  spite  of  phi 
losophy,  both  long  and  tedious,  and  diversified  only  by  the 
entrances  and  exits  of  half  a  dozen  loiterers,  who  were  en 
gaged  in  the  profitable  business  of  looking  out  for  the  steam 
boat,  with  occasional  visits  from  two  little  idle  boys,  who, 
like  wharf-rats,  infest  the  docks,  and  who  amused  them- 


1 64  -Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwicft* 

selves  with  playing  'push-pin.'     The   steam-boat  came   at 
last,  and  Theodore  appeared  at  the  wharf  in  a  little  boat, 
and  brought  me  a  letter  from  Frances,  in  which  she  said 
that  there  would  be  a  Mrs.  Folger  on  board,  daughter  of  a 
Mr.  Sampson,  who  was  a  clergyman,  and  finally  died  a  Uni 
tarian  ;  this  lady  is  (as  F.  said)  a  t'eligieuset  who  exhorts  at 
meetings,  visits  the  sick,  and  devotes  herself  to  all  Christian 
offices.      Frances  thinks  her  almost  beatified,  and  begged 
me  to  draw  nigh  to  her  without  allowing  her  to  suspect  my 
heresy.     I  did  not  know  how  to  select  her,  but,  in  the  acci 
dental  shuffling  of  the  company,  we  soon  fell  together,  and 
into  a  conversation  half  sentimental  and  half  religious.     She 
paused  very  soon,  and  asked, '  What  Church  do  you  attend  ?' 
It  is  a  test  question,  you  know,  and,  though  an  unlucky  one, 
I   answered   it  boldly,  and   cut   the   silver    cord   at   once. 
'  Oh  I  I  am  grieved  for  you,'  she  said ;  and  thereon  we  pro 
ceeded  to  a  long  talk,  which  has  been  dropped  and  resumed 
at  intervals  ever  since  (now  n  o'clock).     She  has  the  face 
and  voice  of  a  saint,  and  is  filled  with  all  Christian  grace 
and  experience  but  chanty  for  a  heretic.     She  talks  sweet 
ly,  and,  if  my  reason  did  not  rebel,  I  should  listen  to  her 
with  awe.     Besides  her,  we  have  no  characters  on  board  but 
a  fat,  good-natured  Canadian  lady,  with  her  family,  on  her 
way  /WM?,  as  all  colonists  affect  to  call  the  '  mother  coun 
try.'     Good-night.     My   fancy   pictures   you   all  locked  in 
sweet  sleep ;  and  my  dear  Kitty !  would  that  she  were  as 
near  to  me  as  she  is  to  you ! 

" Sunday  evening^  zist.  I  took  leave  of  you  on  board  the 
boat.  My  evangelical  friend  anxiously  awaited  the  comple 
tion  of  my  writing,  and  then  renewed  her  expostulations  ; 
all  excepting  ourselves  and  the  chambermaid,  a  colored 
woman  and  a  Methodist,  had  retired  to  their  berths,  so  that 
we  occupied  the  arena  alone.  The  old  blackey,  on  hear 
ing  me  accused  of  denying  the  Lord  that  bought  me,  tramp- 


anil  betters.  165 

ling  on  the  precious  blood,  accounting  it  an  unholy  thing/ 
etc.,  lifted  up  her  voice  and  besought  me  no  longer  to  trust 
to  blind  guides,  but  to  read  my  Bible,  and  said  I  might  at 
tain  to  her  light !  i  i  But,  alas  1  I  loved  darkness  rather  than 
that  light,  and  crept  into  my  berth,  and,  earnestly  aspiring 
to  the  zeal  and  dcvotedness  of  the  interesting  preacher,  I 
fell  asleep." 

Jlf/ss  S&tgwick  to  Afr.  Charles  Sedgwick. 

"  New  York,  November  at,  1824. 

"  Thanksgiving  morning.  Never  was  there  a  more  beauti 
ful  morning  to  be  thankful  for.  We  can  not  make  this  festi 
val  like  that  in  the  land  of  our  fathers,  but,  in  humble  imi 
tation  of  it,  we  are  going  to  have  a  supper-party,  when  all 
our  friends  and  kin  are  to  be  assembled,  including  our  good 
cousins  Margaret  and  Roderick.  One  of  my  first  thanks 
giving  thoughts  takes  me  to  the  little  cluster  at  Lenox,  which 
I  can  not  dwell  upon  without  such  emotions  of  the  heart  as 
arc  appropriate  to  the  day;  and  just  now,  while  I  was  read 
ing  some  of  the  fullest  strains  of  David's  praise,  I  could  not 
help  just  putting  in  a  little  parenthesis  of  my  own. 

"  Wednesday.  Dearest  Charles,  I  have  just  received  your 
most  beautiful  letter,  and  it  has  sent  its  sweet  savor  into  my 
very  heart  of  hearts.  I  know  that  I  don't  deserve  such  ex 
pressions  from  you,  but,  though  this  consciousness  dashes  a 
few  drops  of  the  bitter  of  humiliation  into  my  cup,  still  I  drain 
it  to  the  very  dregs — dregs  it  has  not ;  but  to  the  last  spark 
ling  drop.  Never  was  a  letter  more  welcome,  for  I  had  got 
my  head  as  full  of  nonsense  as  Kate ;  and  last  night,  after 
our  supper,  I  had  a  feeling  like  a  warning  to  prepare  for  bad 
news,  and  I  could  not  sleep — at  least  my  sleep  was  broken 
by  those  awful  thoughts  and  shadowy  appearances  that  in 
trude  on  the  imagination  the  saddest  scenes  of  human  ex 
perience.  But  with  the  morning  hath  come  joy,  and  I  am 
very,  rery  thankful. 


1 66  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Scdgwick. 

"  I  must  relate  to  you  an  anecdote  I  heard  to-day  of  a  little 

boy  of  Mrs.  H.  C 's,  who  is  a  little  more  than  four.     His 

mother  had  just  put  on  him  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  and,  for 
some  misdemeanor,  had  punished  him  and  told  him  to  stand 
in  the  corner.  Soon  after  she  perceived  that  he  had  cut  his 
sleeve  in  several  places  from  the  elbow  down.  She  called 
him  to  her  and  asked  him  what  he  meant  by  such  behavior. 
'Mother,'  said  he,  'it  was  excessive  grief;  the  Bible,  you 
know,  says  "  they  rent  their  garments.11 '  The  boy's  clever 
ness  averted  his  punishment.  What  mother  could  be  ex 
pected  to  maintain  her  gravity  in  such  circumstances  ?  I 
dare  say  the  Edgeworths,  who  are  so  fond  of  making  '  great 
trees  from  little  acorns  grow,'  would  conclude  that  the  most 
mischievous  associations  had  been  introduced  into  the  boy's 
mind,  who  will  henceforth  think  it  safe  to  deviate  from  the 
straight  path  of  right,  provided  he  has  wit  to  lend  him  her 
pinions  to  waft  him  over  the  pitfalls  in  his  way." 

The  next  two  letters  arc  addressed  to  Mr.  Charles  Seclg- 
wick's  oldest  child,  the  niece  who  from  this  time  was  the  ob 
ject  of  her  aunt's  peculiar  care  and  affection,  and  who  re 
paid  it  to  the  last  with  the  tender  attention  of  a  daughter. 
It  would  be  impossible  to  give  a  full  idea  of  Miss  Sedgwick's 
life  without  constant  allusion  to  this  close  and  engrossing 
tie,  which  made  so  large  a  part  of  its  occupation  and  happi 
ness,  and  as,  notwithstanding,  much  of  her  time  was  passed 
in  separation  from  this  chosen  niece,  her  letters  to  her  were 
constant,  and  I  have  drawn  largely  from  them,  even  from 
those  written  while  their  recipient  was  yet  too  young  to  read 
them  for  herself.  These  last  are  exceedingly  sweet  in  their 
exquisite  and  uplifting  sympathy,  and  those  in  later  life  de 
lightful  as  a  journal  sent  to  an  intimate  friend,  but  those  ad 
dressed  to  the  girl  of  twelve  and  fourteen  strike  me  as  the 
most  remarkable  of  the  series.  Letters  to  young  people  oft- 


Life  and  Letters,  167 

en  fail,  either  in  being  written  too  evidently  for  their  im 
provement,  or  too  much  upon  their  own  level.  These  are 
written  as  to  an  equal  in  taste  and  feeling,  from  a  friend  with 
larger  opportunities  of  observation,  and  must  have  afford 
ed  a  stimulus  as  subtle  as  powerful. 


Miss  Setlgwick  to  her  nicce^  JK".  Jlf. 

"New  York,  November,  1824. 

"  MY  DARLING  LITTLE  KITTY,  —  Here  I  am  in  New  York, 
one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  away  from  you.  It  is  a  great 
distance.  I  can't  see  your  pleasant  face,  nor  hear  your 
sweet  voice,  nor  your  songs,  nor  take  you  in  my  arms,  nor 
look  at  the  mountains  with  yo'i,  nor  walk  to  the  river.  But 
I  can  remember  all  the  pleasure  we  have  had  together,  and 
thank  our  Father  in  heaven  for  it  ;  and  I  can  hope  that 
when  summer  comes  I  shall  see  you  again,  and  I  pray  God 
to  bless  you  and  to  love  you.  And  every  night  I  think  of 
you  when  you  used  to  kneel  down  by  me  and  say  your  pray 
er,  and  I  hope  you  will  never  forget  to  do  that.  Kiss  dear 
little  brother  for  me,  and  tell  him  it  made  Aunt  Kitty  feel 
very  cryish  to  think  he  went  off  to  Lenox  without  her  bid- 
cling  him  good-by.  Little  Jane  is  a  very  good  girl  ;  she  says 
you  must  come  to  New  York  and  stay  with  us.  She  has  got 
an  old  rag  baby,  and  you  would  laugh  to  see  what  a  fuss  she 
makes  with  it.  To-day  she  screamed  because  Fanny  prick 
ed  it,  which  she  said  would  make  it  bleed.  Was  not  that 
laughable  ?  Jane  went  to  church  to-day,  and  sat  up  quite 
like  a  lady.  Good-night,  darling. 

"Yours,  as  ever,  AUNT  KITTY." 

To  t/ie  same. 

"  New  York,  December  24,  1824. 

"  MY  DARLING  KITTY,  —  When  is  that  next  week  coming 
when  you  are  going  to  write  me  a  letter  ?  I  am  looking  out 


»68  Lift:  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

for  it  every  day.  You  know,  my  beloved  Kitty,  that  noth 
ing  pleases  me  so  much  as  to  get  a  letter  from  you,  and  to 
hear  that  you  and  dear  Charley  are  well  and  good.  You 
can't  think  how  pretty  little  Harry  grows ;  his  little  cheeks 
are  as  red  as  a  rose,  and  his  deep  blue  eyes  as  bright  as  the 
stars,  and  he  laughs  as  heartily  as  a  little  man.  To-morrow 
will  be  Christmas  here,  and  then  we  shall  have  merry  music 
with  the  ringing  of  the  bells.  I  wish  my  beloved  Kitty  was 
here.  Good-by,  darling. 

"  Your  own  aunt,  C.  M.  S  EDO  WICK." 

Now  that  Miss  Sedgwick's  literary  powers  had  received 
public  and  unquestioned  acknowledgment,  her  own  tastes 
and  the  eager  encouragement  of  her  friends  alike  persuaded 
her  to  pursue  the  fair  opening  before  her,  and  give  free  rein 
to  her  natural  gifts,  and  in  "  Redwood,"  published  in  1824, 
we  see  the  first  result  of  her  deliberate  intention.  The 
same  quick  and  enlivening  sympathy  followed  her  through 
its  composition. 

Afrs.  Susan  Sedgwick  to  Miss  Sedgwicft. 

"  Stoekbridgc,  March,  1824. 

****«<  Ever  since  you  have  carried  Itedivood  out  of 
the  house,  I  have  been  in  a  fidget  about  him.  While  you 
were  in  my  sight,  and  I  knew  that  your  progress  was  de 
lightful  and  sure,  though  from  unavoidable  interruptions  it 
was  slow,  I  was  contented,  but  now  I  am  very  impatient  of 
any  delays.  Do  tell  me  in  your  next  when  it  will  be  out." 

Mr.  Harry  Sedgwick  to  Miss  Sedgwick. 

"  New  York,  August  24, 1824. 

"Redwood  sells  very  well;  about  noo  are  gone.  The 
sale  is  constantly  increasing,  and  the  booksellers  say  that  it 
is  now  better  than  Redgaunllet.  The  difference  between 


Life  and  Lsiters.  169 

the  first  and  subsequent  works  of  the  same  writer  is  im 
mense.  I  have  no  doubt  that  your  fourth  work  will  go  off 
as  well  as  any  of  Cooper's  or  Irving's — I  think  better.  Pro 
fessor  Everett  wrote  the  article  in  Hale's  paper  concerning 
Redwood." 

From  //id  same. 

44  New  York,  October  24,  1824. 

'•  The  booksellers  are  all  teasing  me  to  know  when  anoth 
er  work  will  come  from  the  author  of*  Redwood.'  They  say 
it  will  go  as  well  or  better  than  one  from  Cooper  or  Irving." 

".Redwood"  had  the  honor,  rare  in  those  days  for  an 
American  book,  of  being  immediately  reprinted  in  England, 
and  it  was  also  translated  into  French,  and  published  on  the 
Continent. 

A  lady  of  Philadelphia,  a  correspondent  of  Miss  Edge- 
worth,  sent  Miss  Scdgwick  the  following  extract'  from  one 
of  her  letters  : 

44  May,  1825. 

"  *  Redwood1  has  entertained  us  very  much.  I  am  so 
much  flattered  by  the  manner  in  which  my  writings  are  al 
luded  to  in  this  book,  that  I  can  hardly  suppose  I  am  an  un 
prejudiced  judge,  but  it  appears  to  me  a  work  of  superior 
talent,  far  greater  than  even  'The  New-England  Tale1  gave 
m.  e  reason  to  expect.  The  character  of  Aunt  Deborah  is 
first  rate — in  Scott's  best  manner,  yet  not  an  imitation  of 
Scott.  It  is  to  America  what  Scott's  characters  are  to  Scot 
land,  valuable  as  original  pictures,  with  enough  of  individual 
peculiarity  to  be  interesting,  and  to  give  the  feeling  of  real 
ity  and  life  as  portraits,  with  sufficient  also  of  general  char 
acteristics  to  give  them  the  philosophical  merit  of  portray 
ing  a  class." 

II 


1 70  Lift:  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  Charles  Sedgwick. 

"  New  York,  January,  1825. 

****«!  spent  last  evening  at  Robert's,  and  we  read 
with  delight  the  memoir  of  Lafayette  in  the  last  North  Amer 
ican.  There  is  something  sublime  in  the  consistency  of  this 
great  man  in  all  the  extremes  of  fortune — steadfast  amidst 
the  temptations  of  unequaled  prosperity  and  (oh,  shame  to 
his  persecutors!)  unparalleled  adversity;  an  enthusiasm  gov 
erned  by  reason  and  directed  by  benevolence.  What  a  de 
lightful  example  to  our  species,  and  still  shining  in  its  bright 
ness  where  every  eye  may  behold  it.  *  *  *  *  Yesterday 
evening  Harry  told  me  he  had  sent  a  copy  of  Redwood  to 
Mrs.  Barbauld,  and  that  he  had  a  letter  for  me  from  her. 
No  happiness  that  did  not  spring  from  my  own  family  circle 
ever  produced  an  emotion  of  such  pure  delight  and  grati 
tude.  J  would  send  the  letter  to  you,  that  you  might  see  the 
lines  traced  by  her  own  venerable  hand,  but  I  can  not  bear 
to  part  with  it,  or  expose  it  to  any  unnecessary  risk.  I 
therefore  copy  it : 

"  *  DEAR  MADAM, — The  state  of  my  eyes,  which  have  been 
weak  and  painful  for  some  time,  and  are  by  no  means  well 
now,  must  plead  my  excuse  for  not  having  yet  thanked  you 
for  the  entertaining  novel  with  which  you  favored  me.  You 
Americans  tread  upon  our  heels  in  every  path  of  literature, 
but  we  will  not  be  jealous  of  you,  for  you  are  our  children, 
and  it  is  the  natural  wish  of  parents  that  children  should 
outstrip  their  parents  in  every  thing  good  and  lovely.  In 
religious  matters  particularly  you  are  proving  to  us  that 
much  true  devotion,  and  at  least  a  decent  provision  for  its 
public  exercise,  can  subsist  without  an  establishment.  What 
a  field  you  have  for  description  in  wastes  and  woods  so  late 
ly  trodden  by  the  foot  of  man,  savage  life  giving  way  every 


JLift  antl  Letters.  171 

where  to  the  social  blessings  of  civilization,  and  just  enough 
remaining  to  show  how  much  has  been  gained  by  the  ex 
change.  Should  you  ever  come  to  England,  dear  madam, 
or  your  brother  (which,  by  the  way,  you  ought  to  do,  this  be 
ing  your  mother-country),  I  shall,  if  in  the  land  of  the  living, 
be  happy  to  pay  my  respects  to  you.  Excuse  the  hand 
writing  of  this  letter,  for  in  truth  I  can  hardly  see  to  write, 
and  believe  me,  madam,  your  obliged  and  obedient  servant, 

"<A.  L.  BARDAULD.'" 

Miss  Stdgwick  to  Mr.  Charles  Sedgwick. 

"  New  York,  January  20,  1825. 

*  *  *  *  «  j  went  t0  Mr.  Scwall's  in  one  of  those  horrid 
fits  of  depression  when  one  would  cut  one's  throat  if  (as  Jane 
said  about  killing  the  chicken)  it  would  not  hurt.  •  But  when 
I  got  there  I  found  the  rooms  full  of  agreeable  people,  and 
before  the  evening  was  over  I  thought  this  quite  a  holiday 
world.  Halleck,  alias  Croaker,  was  there.  I  have  never 
seen  him  before.  He  has  a  reddish  brown  complexion,  and 
a  heavy  jaw,  but  an  eye  so  full  of  the  fire  and  sweetness  of 
poetry  that  you  at  once  own  him  for  one  of  the  privileged 
order.  He  docs  not  act  as  if  he  had  spent  his  life  in  groves 
and  temples,  but  he  has  the  courtesy  of  a  man  of  society. 
He  dances  with  grace,  and  talks  freely  and  without  parade. 

"  Robert  has  just  brought  me  a  letter  from  E.,  received 
by  the  Howard.  He  has  sent  Redwood  ti  /a  l?ranyais  by 
the  same  ship  ;  we  shall  probably  get  it  in  the  course  of  a 
day  or  two.  Poor  Debby  will  make  a  more  ridiculous  figure, 
I  am  afraid,  than  she  did  at  Lebanon. 

" '  MY  DARLING  KITTV, — You  are  certainly  coming  to 
New  York,  and  I  think  of  it  every  day  and  every  night.  Jane 
says  every  day,  "  Why  don't  Kate  come  this  day  ?"  We 
shall  have  a  great  deal  to  do  when  you  come  ;  many  pleas- 


172  £ifi  of  Cat/i  ari/ie  Af.  Sedgwick. 

ant  walks  and  rides  to  take.  I  hear  that  Charley  is  the 
sweetest  boy  that  ever  was,  and  my  dear  Kitty  as  good  as 
ever.  It  would  make  my  heart  ache  and  my  eyes  cry  if  you 
were  not  good.  Don't  forget  me,  dear,  nor  forget  to  love 
me.  Your  own  AUNT  KATE/  " 

Jlf/ss  Sedgwick  to  Afr.  Charles  Stdgwick. 

"New  York,  1825. 

****«£  spent  yesterday  with  little  R.,  devoting  my 
self,  to  the  exclusion  of  every  thing  else,  to  fixing  over  two 
old  frocks.  In  the  evening  we  went  to  a  party  at  Mrs. 
Schuyler's,  principally  made  up  of  our  own  congregation, 
for,  like  all  the  proscribed,  we  are  clannish.  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  sitting  for  five  minutes  next  Mr,  Webster,*  and 
talking  with  him  for  half  that  space  of  time,  and  this  morn 
ing  I  have  paid  the  penalty  of  all  my  pleasures  by  a  head 
ache  and  sleepy  eyes.  *  *  *  *  By  the  way,  I  don't  know 
whether  you  have  yet  been  told  that  there  is  a  notice,  a  sort 
of  advertisement  of  Redwood,  in  the  Constitutionncl,  a  Paris 
newspaper.  Harry  was  told  last  evening  that  there  was  a 
dispute  in  the  Paris  newspapers  whether  it  was  or  was  not 
written  by  Cooper.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  Mr.  C.'s  self- 
complacency  will  not  be  wounded  by  this  mortifying  news. 

"Monday  morning.  I  was  summoned  from  my  letter  to  see 
Mr.  Webster,  who  made  us  a  very  agreeable  call.  He  talked 
of  birds  and  beasts  as  well  as  La  Fontaine^himsclf.  His 
face  is  the  grandest  I  have  ever  seen.  It  has  all  the  sublim 
ity  of  intellect." 


Miss  Scdgivick  to  Afr.  C/iar/cs 

44  Now  York,  February,  1825. 

"  MY  DEAR  CHARLES,  —  There  is  a  gentleman  here  who  is 
compiling  a  biographical  account  of  the  distinguished  men 

*  Daniel  Webster. 


Life  and  Lttters.  173 

of  our  country.  He  has  repeatedly  applied  for  some  docu 
ments  in  relation  to  our  beloved  father.  I  wish  you  to  fur- 
nish  every  thing  you  can.  If  you  could  give  precisely  the 
dates  of  his  efforts  for  the  blacks  and  his  interposition  for 
the  Shakers,  they  would  be  valuable  facts.  Whatever  is 
done  must  be  done  immediately.  I  am  afraid  it  is  already 
too  late.  You  had  better  talk  with  Susan,  who  has  clone 
more  than  any  of  us  to  preserve  the  records  to  be  transmit 
ted.  Such  a  document  may  be  most  valuable  to  your  chil 
dren — to  us,  whose  hearts  arc  written  full  of  his  virtues,  these 
public  memorials  must  all  seem  cold  and  poor." 

To  t/tc'  same. 

"  New  York,  March  27,  1825. 

"The  long  winter  is  past,  and  I  begin  to  count  the  clays 
and  hours  till  your  arrival.  I  could  not  but  smile  at  your 
request,  Elizabeth,  that  I  would  get  something  between  sum 
mer  and  winter  wear  for  Kate  for  the  last  of  April.  Jaue 
and  Fanny  have  had  their  calico  frocks  on  for  a  month,  and 
I  have  seen  ladies  walking  in  the  street  in  bareges,  which 
are  mere  gossamer,  with  thin  muslin  spencers.  The  blasts 
of  March  are  blowing  furiously  to-day,  and  none  but  the 
gifted  bard  could  hear  the  voice  of  promise  in  these  rude 
winds.  I  doubt  not  they  pass  over  the  Lenox  hills  with  a 
fell  swoop  ;  but  still  I  think  by  the  last  of  April  dear  Kate 
will  not  need  a  (knti-saisoti  frock." 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Mrs.  Watson. 

"  New  York,  June  5, 1825. 

"  We  have  had  Kliza  Cabot  here  for  a  few  days,  and  have 
enjoyed  her  sweet  society  as  much  as  it  is  possible  to  enjoy 
such  a  blessing  in  this  hurly-burly  city.  I  often  wished,  my 
dear  sister,  that  you,  whose  heart  naturally  unfolds  to  such 
celestial  influences,  could  have  shared  with  us  the  happiness 


174  L'f*  °f  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

that  is  diffused  by  a  mind  so  elevated,  so  full  of  holy  feeling 
and  benevolent  purpose,  so  purified  from  the  dross  of  the 
world,  so  above  the  world.  This  is  not  a  rhapsody.  I  feel 
with  Eliza  the  presence  of  a  superior  spirit,  the  reality  of 
what  I  long  and  sometimes  resolve  to  be,  but  what  I  am  far 
from  attaining." 

To  the  same. 

44  New  York,  May  25,  1825. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  unsearchable  secrets  of  Providence  to 
me  that,  with  your  capacity  for  enjoyment,  and  with  the  rich 
resources  of  your  generous  nature,  your  own  happiness 
should  be  so  limited,  and  your  means  of  imparting  to  others 
so  circumscribed.  It  is  a  dark  and  impenetrable  mystery  ; 
but  through  the  thick  clouds  there  are  gleams  of  light,  and  I 
can  perceive,  my  dear  sister,  that  you  are  making  advances 
in  spiritual  life  which  are  not  made  by  those  who  lag  by  the 
way  to  enjoy  the  flowers  and  fruits  that  spring  up  in  their 
path,  but  that  perish  in  the  using.  Oh,  it  is  good — we  must 
believe  it  is  good,  to  be  left  alone  with  God  ;  to  feel  that  all 
happiness  but  that  into  which  He  breathes  his  own  immor 
tality  is  transient — that  all  love  but  His  is  variable  and  im 
perfect.  It  is  good  sometimes  to  anticipate  the  hour  of 
death,  to  know  what  manner  of  persons  we  shall  be  when 
the  flatteries  of  life  and  the  illusions  of  the  world  vanish  ; 
when  tjie  vapors  of  the  earth  shall  be  dissipated;  when  light 
shall  no  longer  lend  its  magic  coloring ;  when  the  voice  of 
affection  shall  be  still ;  when  the  dim  eye  can  not  rest  on 
looks  of  kindness ;  when  the  arms  that  sheltered  us  fall 
away,  and  the  strength  that  supported  us  is  weakness  ;  when 
our  souls  shall  be  alone  with  God. 

*  a  #  *  «  Harry  and  Robert  are  engaged  in  a  specula 
tion  in  the  Rhode  Island  coal-mine  which  is  now  very  prom 
ising.  Harry  is  buried  deep  in  it.  He  scarcely  hears  you 
when  you  speak  to  him  on  any  other  subject. 


Life  and  Letters.  175 


*  *  *  *  « i  have  got  a  bagatelle  which  I  shall  publish 
that  I  think  is  much  better  adapted  to  children  than  this.* 
I  meant  it  for  a  tract,  but  Harry  thinks  I  had  better  print 
it  for  profit,  as  he  says  people  value  a  great  deal  more  what 
they  pay  for." 

Miss  SatgwicA  to  Mr.  Charles  Sedgwick. 

"  Boston,  June  17,  1825. 

"  The  great  day  has  arrived,  and  is  as  beautiful  as  if  heaven 
smiled  on  our  patriotic  celebration.  The  city  was  never  so 
full — half  so  full,  the  people  say.  There  are  hundreds  vain 
ly  inquiring  for  a  lodging.  The  Common  is  spread  with 
tents  to  shelter  the  militia  of  the  adjacent  towns.  It  is  ex 
pected  that  a  hundred  thousand  people  will  be  present.  Mr. 
Webster  expects  to  make  15,000  people  hear  him.  He  and 
hjs  wife  sent  me  an  invitation  to  go  in  their  party,  so  that  I 
think  I  shall  be  sure  to  be  among  the  hearers — the  select 
few.  *  *  *  *  I  was  last  evening  at  a  party  at  Mrs.  Quincy's 
to  meet  the  general  ;t  was  twice  introduced  to  him,  and  twice 
shook  his  well-shaken  hand.  It  is  a  pleasure  certainly  to 
grasp  a  hand  that  has  been  the  instrument  of  so  noble  a 
heart,  but  the  pleasure  is  scarcely  individual,  for  the  hand  is 
extended  with  as  little  personal  feeling  as  the  eyes  of  a  pic 
ture  are  directed. 

"Saturday.  I  am  'one  of  the  survivors  who  fought, bled, 
and  died  on  Bunker  Hill.1  I  can  only  give  you  generals. 
The  oration  was  in  Mr.  Webster's  best  style  of  manly  elo 
quence.  It  was  all  fine,  and  there  were  some  very  fine 
strokes  of  genius  in  it ;  but  you  will  sec  it  and  judge  for 
yourselves.  You  will  find  from  the  papers  that  all  the  world 
was  there — some  say  75,000,  some  100,000.  We  went  at 
nine,  and  did  not  get  home  till  after  four,  so  that,  except  for 

*  Kofurring  to  some  extracts  from  a  journal  given  to  the  children* 
f  Lafayette. 


176  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

the  pleasure  of  the  remembrance,  the  balance  was  rather  on 
the  painful  side  ;  but  when  I  think  of  that  magnificent  man  ; 
of  the  cloud  of  witnesses  ;  of  those  old  weather-beaten  sur 
vivors,  with  their  palsied  limbs  and  nerveless  arms,  once 
strong  and  raised  in  their  might  for  us  ;  of  the  good  Lafay 
ette  looking  with  the  benignity  of  a  blessed  spirit  upon  the 
countless  multitude  ;  of  the  old  man's  prayer  ;  of  the  union 
of  voices  pouring  out  their  praise  —  when  I  think  of  all  these 
things,  I  am  grateful  that  I  was  permitted  to  see  and  hear.'1 


Miss  Stttgwick  to  Mr.  C/iar/cs 

44  New  York,  December  28,  1825. 

"Mv  DEAR  CHARLES,  —  You  write  such  beautiful  letters 
up  in  that  Lenox  office  that  I  shall  begin  to  think  that  much- 
dreaded  court-house  hill  is  a  sort  of  modern  prose  Parnas 
sus,  only  that  I  know  there  is  no  mount  like  the  inspica- 
tion  of  the  spirit,  no  Helicon  like  the  pure  fountain  of  love. 

"  We  are  leading  very  quiet  lives  ;  no  morning  calls,  dear 
Lizzy,  or  next  to  none,  and  very  few  evening  parties,  and 
those  have  been  dull  enough  to  save  them  from  all  suspicion 
of  gayety.  I  have  now  and  then  attended  the  Athenceum 
lectures.  We  had  one  the  other  night  from  one  of  the  lights 
of  the  College  on  Roman  literature.  Of  Rome  he  said 
nothing  but  that  he  wished  us  all  to  awake  from  the  dream 
we  had  too  long  indulged  that  Romulus  was  really  suckled 
by  a  wolf.  He  informed  us,  also,  that  letters  were  brought 
to  Greece  by  the  Pelasgii,  and  not  the  Phoenicians  ;  and  then 
he  went  on  to  a  very  pretty  homily  all  about  his  private  re 
ligious  feelings  ;  and  then  he  proved  to  his  own  entire  satis 
faction  that  A  and  T  were  primeval  letters  —  that  A  was  a 
wonderful  symbol  of  something,  and  that  T  prefigured  the 
doctrines  of  man's  sin  in  Adam,  the  Incarnation,  Atonement, 
Trinity  most  especially,  etc.,  etc.  And  this  a  lecture  on  Ro 
man  literature  !" 


Life  and  Letters.  177 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mr.  Charles  Sedgwick. 

44  New  York,  February  24,  1826. 

*  *  *  *  «  j  fancied  you  sick  on  the  road,  sick  in  Boston. 
I  thought  of  all  the  mortal  cases  of  influenza,  etc.,  etc.,  but  I 
trust,  my  dear  brother,  that  the  same  kind  Providence  that 
has  as  yet  preserved  entire  the  silken  bond  with  which  he 
bound  us  as  a  family  together,  will  for  some  time  to  come 
keep  it  from  that  severance  which  can  not  be  avoided. 
When  I  think  of  the  possibility  of  living  in  the  world  with 
out  you,  Charles,  my  soul  loses  all  its  courage,  and  I  feel  as 
if  the  same  blow  must  crush  us  both.  If  I  die  first,  you  have 
others  nearer  to  you  left,  and,  though  I  know  you  would  weep 
bitterly  for  me,  and  never  forget  me,  yet,  thank  God,  you 
would  not  feel  that  desolation  you  would  make.  Should  you 
be  removed  first,  I  promise  you,  my  beloved  brother,  that 
yours  shall  be  mine.  Elizabeth,  and  the  children,  and  I 
would  cast  our  lot  together,  and  my  means  and  efforts  should 
be  devoted  to  them  ;  this  is  not  much,  but  it  is  an  exemption 
from  want.  Lizzy  is  dear  to  me,  not  only  as  your  wife*  but 
as  having  been  to  me  a  most  faithful  and  affectionate  sister  \ 
and  your  children,  Charles,  you  know  I  love  as  if  they  were 
a  part  of  my  own  body  and  soul.  I  do  not  say  this  from 
any  impulse  or  sudden  feeling.  Our  own  loss  the  past  year,* 
and  the  various  sudden  deaths  and  reverses  in  the  circle  of 
our  acquaintance,  have  led  me  to  think  a  great  deal  of  the 
certain  changes  that  await  us,  and  to  form  resolutions  in  the 
view  of  various  contingencies.  And  I  have  thought  of  the 
possibility  of  realizing  some  of  my  apprehensions,  and  that, 
at  any  rate,  it  might  relieve  you  of  the  anxiety  every  father 
must  feel  to  know  my  determination,  though  God  grant  that 
determination  may  never  be  acted  on.  *  *  *  *  I  have  been 

*  This  refers  to  the  death  of  Egbert,  a  much-beloved  son  of  Mrs. 
Pomcroy. 

H  2 


178  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

quite  dissipated  for  the  last  fortnight — at  three  large  parties ; 
at  the  last  we  had  all  the  varieties  of  rival  belles,  who  are 
the  most  beautiful  dancers  in  the  country,  and  who  played 
on  the  harp  and  piano  as  if  the  world  hung  on  Caesar's 

fate.     We  had  a  Miss ,  who  is  a  perfect '  natamy1  (as 

Mumbet  says),  with  her  sleeves  half  way  down  to  her  elbows, 
so  that  her  armpits  were  perfectly  exposed ;  her  bones 
looked  as  if  she  would  rattle  if  you  touched  her.  Jane  said 
she  wondered  if  she  ate.  Anthony  Bleecker  said  she'd  want 
a  great  deal  of  dressing  to  be  eaten." 

The  next  letter  is  in  amusing  and  (alas !)  hopeless  con 
trast  to  the  present  state  of  things  at  Stockbridge  and  the 
vicinity,  where,  last  summer,  a  well-advised  householder  re 
fused  to  take  a  boarder  at  less  than  #20  a  week,  and  would 
as  soon  have  thought  of  throwing  an  elephant  as  a  horse 
into  the  bargain. 

"  Stockbridge,  June  14,  1826. 

"  MY  DEAR  ROBERT, — I  received  yesterday  your  letter 
about  Mrs.  Rogers.  I  immediately  applied  to  Mrs.  W.,  and 
she  has  agreed  to  take  Mrs.  Rogers  and  her  woman  for  £5 
a  week.  I  shall  write  Mrs.  R.  by  this  mail  all  the  particu 
lars  of  the  arrangement.  The  place,  you  know,  is  a  most  de 
lightful  one.  The  family  are  very  good  sort  of  people.  The 
board  is  very  high  for  this  region;  I  took  care  to  insinuate  that 
the  price  was  high,  and  that  for  such  a  consideration  it  would 
be  but  a  reasonable  make-weight  to  throw  in  the  occasional 
use  of  the  horse  and  chaise.  To  this  Mrs.  W.  assented, 
only  stipulating  that  the  horse  could  not  be  promised  for 
every  day." 

Mis s  Sedgwick  to  JC.  Hf.  SedgivUk. 

"  New  York,  January  1 1,  1826. 
"MY  BELOVED  KITTY, — Good-morning  to  you.     I  have 


Life  and  Letters.  1  79 

been  dreaming  of  you  all  night,  and  I  thought  you  and  I 
were  walking  in  a  beautiful  grove,  and  the  grove  was  of  ap 
ple,  and  pear,  and  peach  trees  all  in  blossom,  and  here  and 
there  was  an  orange-tree,  the  boughs  loaded  with  fruit,  and 
hanging  so  low  that  you  could  pick  them  as  we  walked 
along,  and  some  of  the  trees  were  nutmeg  and  cinnamon, 
and  they  gave  out  a  delicious  perfume,  and  grape-vines  hung 
in  beautiful  festoons  from  tree  to  tree,  and  rich  bunches  of 
grapes  were  dangling  all  about  us,  and  through  the  grove 
there  winded  a  bright,  clear  stream  of  water,  like  our  own 
Housatonic,  and  all  along  the  banks  grew  flowers  of  every 
description,  which  gracefully  bent  toward  the  water,  which 
reflected  their  beautiful  faces  like  a  mirror,  and  the  bottom 
of  the  river  was  covered  with  pebbles  as  white  and  smooth 
as  polished  marble,  and  the  fish  were  frolicking  about  them, 
and  the  birds  were  flying  over  our  heads,  and  sometimes 
they  would  alight  at  our  feet,  and  sing  their  sweet  songs  to 
us.  They  seemed  like  little  friends,  they  were  so  tame  and 
gentle,  and  their  nests  were  in  plain  sight,  so  that  we  could 
sec  what  nice  care  they  took  of  their  young.  And  as  we 
walked  along,  we  saw  father  and  mother  sitting  under  a  tree, 
and  little  Charley  was  kneeling  by  them,  saying  his  prayers. 
And  then  you  looked  up  at  me,  and  oh,  how  bright  and 
sweet  you  looked  !  and  you  said,  *  Aunt  Kitty,  is  not  this 
Heaven  ?'  and  I  caught  you  in  my  arms,  and  then  I  waked." 


Miss  St!t/giuick  to  Mr.  Charles  Scdgwick. 

44  Boston,  October  27,  1826. 

"  MY  DEAR  CHARLES,  —  I  presume  that  my  letter  to  Susan 
has  already  informed  you  of  our  safe  arrival.  The  journey 
was  without  any  fatigue,  and  the  plcasantest  I  ever  took  in 
a  stage-coach.  Robert  was  in  fine  spirits,  and  every  cir 
cumstance  concurred  to  make  me  enjoy  it.  One  old  soldier 


180  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

I  never  shall  forget.  He  was  not  like  most  of  our  old  pen 
sioners,  a  subject  of  pity  on  account  of  (perhaps)  accidental 
virtue,  but  every  thing  about  him  looked  like  the  old  age  of 
humble,  frugal,  industrious  virtue.  And  then  he  was  so  pa 
tient  under  the  severest  of  all  physical  evils  (and  I  have  not 
Eliza  Cabot's  magnanimous  contempt  of  bodily  pain),  so 
cheerful  and  bright,  so  confiding  in  kindness,  and  so  trust 
ful  in  his  fellow-creatures.  But  you  will  think  me  extrava 
gant,  for  I  can't  present  before  you  the  picture  of  the  old 
man,  with  his  hands  nicely  clad  in  famous  green  mittens, 
knit,  as  he  said,  with  a  tear  in  his  eye,  'by  his  youngest  dar- 
terj  leaning  on  his  cane,  the  horrid  cancer  decently  dressed 
and  sheltered,  talking  with  a  benign  expression  of  his  old 
friends,  his  eye  kindling,  and  his  form  straightening  with  a 
momentary  vigor  as  he  spoke  of  the  heroic  deeds  of  his 
youthful  companions,  and  the  serenity,  and  meekness,  and 
philosophy  with  which  he  spoke  of  his  sufferings  and  the 
progress  of  them." 


JHfiss  SeJgivu'k  to  Mr.  Charles  Sedgivick. 

••  UoHton,  November  21,  1826. 

"Mv  DUAR  CHARLES,  —  Harry  arrived  here  yesterday,  aft 
er  being  delayed  at  the  mine  till  that  time.  Ho  is  in  fine 
spirits  about  the  coal.  I  hope  he  has  ground  for  his  san 
guine  expectations,  but  I  have  no  faith  in  any  of  our  name 
becoming  rich.  We  always  have  something  ahead  that  we 
think  reasonable  to  ask,  and  if  I  could  sec  you  in  the  pos 
session  of  a  cottage  (that  is,  a  nice  house)  on  Stockbridge 
Plain,  and  $1500  a  year,  and  Fanny  snugly  sheltered  in  the 
valley,  I  would  compound  for  the  rest  of  the  family  to  re 
main  as  they  are.  We  should  not  be  anxious  to  be  placed 
in  any  condition  of  increased  responsibility,  and  besides, 
with  money  would  come  some  balancing  evil,  and  so,  upon 
the  whole,  let  us  pray  for  contentment  and  gratitude. 


Life  and  Letters.  181 

"  The  gentlemen  here  are  all  expressing  their  regret  that 
Theodore  is  not  to  be  here  this  winter,  and  I  am  glad  to 
find  that  it  is  a  serious  feeling  of  loss.  Mr.  Quincy  said  to 
me  the  other  day, '  We  want  him  ;  we  don't  know  how  to  do 
without  him.'  By  the  way,  has  not  Mr.  Quincy  come  out 
bright  with  his  market  ?  I  dined  there  last  Saturday,  and  in 
the  evening  he  ordered  the  carriage  and  took  us  down  there. 
It  was  beautifully  lighted,  and  we  walked  through  it,  and  I 
could  not  but  compare  his  feelings  with  the  vulgar  senti 
ment  of  a  Roman  conqueror  passing  under  his  triumphal 
arch." 

Miss  Setigwifk  to  Mr.  Charles  Sedgwick. 

41  Boston,  November  4,  1826. 

"  One  of  the  greatest  pleasures  I  have  had  here,  or  could 
have  any  where,  has  been  seeing  Mr.  Channing.*  I  have 
twice  dined  and  spent  the  evening  in  his  company,  and  sat 
next  to  him  all  the  time.  There  is  a  superior  light  in  his 
mind  that  sheds  a  pure,  bright  gleam  on  every  thing  that 
comes  from  it.  He  talks  freely  upon  common  topics,  but 
they  seem  no  longer  to  be  common  topics  when  he  speaks 
of  them.  There  is  the  influence  of  the  sanctuary,  the  holy 
place  about  him.  Such  an  influence  can  not  be  lost,  and  I 
perceive  a  deep  seriousness,  an  energy  of  religious  feeling 
in  the  conversation  of  some  of  my  friends,  that  seems  to  me 
more  like  what  I  have  read  of  than  any  thing  I  have  before 
seen.  Elsewhere  I  have  seen  the  poor,  the  sick,  and  the  af 
flicted  detached  from  the  world  and  turning  to  communion 
with  the  God  of  their  spirits,  but  here  I  have  met  with  some 
who  have  every  thing  that  the  world  can  give,  who  feel  that 
it  is  all  very  good,  and  yet  their  minds  are  intent  on  heaven 
ly  things.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  would  be  impossible  to 
live  within  the  sphere  of  Mr.  Channing's  influence  without 
*  Rev.  Dr.  Channing. 


1 82  Life  of  Cat/iarine  M.  Sedgwick. 

being  in  some  degree  spiritualized  by  it.  *  *  *  *  You  would 
all  be  pleased  at  the  unanimous  and  strong  sentiment  that 
prevails  here  in  relation  to  the  Greek  business.  Harry  is 
lauded  as  if  he  were  a  real  Greek  hero.  I  am  afraid  he  will 
sacrifice  his  eyes,  if  not  his  life,  in  their  cause." 

Mis s  Scttgwick  to  K.  Af.  Sedgwick. 

"  Boston,  November  12,  1826. 

"  MY  DEAR  KITTY, — I  am  very  glad  that  you  are  so  happy. 
When  I  read  your  little  letter,  I  fancy  I  can  see  you  and  hear 
you,  and  see  your  little  frolicksome  sister ;  but  then,  when  I 
feel  how  far  I  am  away  from  you,  my  heart  is  sad,  and  the 
tears  will  come  in  my  eyes,  and  I  think  over  and  over  that 
I  never  again  will  leave  my  Berkshire  home  for  such  a  long 

time.     I  dined  the  other  day  in  company  with  Miss , 

and  we  talked  a  great  deal  about  you  and  Charley,  and  your 
kind  father  and  mother,  and  she  said  a  great  deal  about 
their  goodness  to  her,  and  then  I  thought  they  minded  what 
our  Savior  says — if  we  are  kind  to  rich  and  great  people 
there  is  not  much  goodness  in  it,  because  we  know  they  can 
do  as  much  for  us  as  we  can  do  for  them,  and  so  we  shall 
get  it  all  paid  back  ;  but  if  we  are  kind  to  those  who  have 
nothing  to  do  for  us  in  return,  why  then  we  are  really  kind. 
God  is  the  father  of  us  all.  He  loves  all  his  children,  and 
he  is  certainly  pleased  when  he  sees  those  that  are  young, 
and  well,  and  happy  doing  something  for  the  poor,  and  the 

sick,  and  neglected.      I  went  yesterday  with  Mr. to 

see  his  mite  of  a  baby,  and  it  is  a  droll-looking  little  thing  ; 
its  hands  are  not  a  bit  bigger  than  your  wax  doll's,  and  its 
fade  is  about  as  big  as  the  top  of  one  of  your  china-cups, 
and  when  it  cries  it  looks  like  a  white  mummy.  I  went  to 
a  meeting  a  few  nights  ago  where  there  were  ladies  and  gen 
tlemen  learning  to  read — that  is,  to  read  well,  and  I  heard 
so  much  said  of  tho  importance  of  reading  well,  that  I  dc- 


Life  and  JLetters.  183 

termined  to  beg  you,  my  dear  Kitty,  never  to  read  aloud  with 
out  trying  to  read  as  well  as  you  can,  and  to  beg  your  moth 
er  to  correct  the  only  fault  in  her  reading  for  your  sake,  for 
mothers  will  do  more  for  their  children  than  they  will  for 
themselves.  My  darling  child,  remember  me,  and  do  not 
love  me  less  because  I  am  away  from  you,  and  kiss  dear 
Charley  for  me. 

"  Your  own  aunt  and  friend,  C.  M.  SEDGWICK." 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Mrs.  Watson. 

"  New  York,  December  3,  1826. 

*#**«!  think  I  have  never  enjoyed  five  weeks  of  my 
life  so  much  as  the  last  five,  or  that  I  can  look  back  upon 
any  period  with  so  much  to  awaken  gratitude  to  God.  I 
never  was  sensible  of  receiving  such  an  impulse  to  my. re 
ligious  purposes  and  hopes.  I  have  been  much  with  those 
who  dwell  in  light.  I  have  seen  and  heard  Mr.  Channing  a 
great  deal  in  public  and  private.  I  have  received  the  ema 
nations  from  his  holy  mind — there  should  be  a  quickening 
influence  from  them.  I  was  continually  with  my  sweet  friend 
Eliza,  whose  Christian  course  is  brightening,  and  in  the  so 
ciety  of  those  whose  intellectual  natures  are  sanctified  by 
an  enlightened  religion.  I  should  be  insensible  not  to  feel 
these  privileges,  and  if  I  do  not  make  some  improvement  of 
them  I  shall  be  indeed  an  unprofitable  servant." 

The  uneasiness  expressed  at  the  close  of  one  of  the  late 
letters  with  regard  to  Mr.  Harry  Sedgwick's  eyes  had  a 
painfully  real  foundation.  They  became  worse  and  worse, 
and  for  a  time  he  was  perfectly  blind. 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mr.  Charles  Sedgwick. 

"  New  York,  February  26,  1827. 
"  MY  DEAR  CHARLES  AND  ELIZABETH, — I  have  been  put- 


184  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

ting  off  writing  for  the  last  two  days  in  the  hope  that  the 
second  operation  on  Harry's  eyes  would  be  over.  But  these 
good-for-nothing  surgeons  have  kept  us  in  hot  water  since 
last  Thursday,  putting  it  off  from  day  to  day  on  some  pre 
text  or  other.  I  don't  believe  a  butcher,  jailer,  or  common 
hangman  gets  his  heart  so  hardened  as  a  doctor — as  most 
doctors.  I  am  glad  that  I  know  such  a  man  as  Dr.  Jones 
or  Watts.  There  are  natures  that  fire  melts,  but  will  not 
harden.  Harry,  as  Jane  says,  is  a  pattern  for  Job  himself, 
but  still  he  is  severely  tried  ;  and,  though  he  makes  very  light 
of  the  operation,  it  can't  be  pleasant  to  sit  for  a  week  think 
ing  of  that  crooked  wire  and  knife  going  into  your  eyeball ! 
"  Wednesday  evening,  28///.  I  purposely  delayed  my  letter 
till  to-day.  The  operation  was  gone  through  this  morning. 
It  was  a  little  longer  than  before,  as  the  doctors  were  anx 
ious  to  cut  away  the  substance  more,  and  I  think  he  felt  it 
more  ;  but  it  is  really,  for  the  object  to  be  attained,  a  very 
small  affair.  There  seems  to  be  no  threatening  of  inflam 
mation,  and  Stevens  pronounces,  with  perfect  confidence,  on 
perfect  success.  The  anxious  meeting  is  at  this  moment  in 
his  room,  though  Jane  and  I  have  just  been  laying  our  heads 
together  to  request  them  to  adjourn  down  stairs,  lest  he 
should  get  too  much  excited.  The  manifestation  of  kind 
feelings,  the  thronging  of  friends  to  your  house,  and,  above 
all,  the  sentiment  of  entire  dependence  on  God  and  grati 
tude  to  him,  are,  in  such  events,  merciful  compensations 
for  the  evil  that  attends  them.  I  can  not  think  that  Harry 
will  recover  his  eyes  so  as  with  safety  to  pursue  his  profes 
sion,  but  all  must  be  left  to  time  to  determine." 

The  eyesight  was  restored,  but  a  still  heavier  affliction  fol 
lowed.     Miss  Sedgwick  says,  in  her  "  Recollections :" 

"  My  brother  Harry  was  strong,  active,  capable  of  any  en- 


Life  and  Letters.  185 

durance,  and  of  a  bold,  sanguine,  and  cheerful  temperament 
— an  indomitable  spirit,  and  a  mental  capacity  that  never 
tired. 

"  In  the  delightful  exercise  of  all  his  faculties  he  was  sud 
denly  arrested  by  failing  eyesight.  He  did  not  know  how 
to  modify  his  plans  or  temper  his  expectations.  He  wanted 
the  wisdom  of  patience  and  resignation — the  docile  submis 
sion  to  the  bit  and  rein  that  it  had  pleased  Providence  to  put 
upon  him.  Pie  made  the  fatal  mistake  of  struggling  against 
the  inevitable  instead  of  yielding  to  it.  Just  at  this  epoch 
came  the  failure  of  a  speculation  that  offered  to  his  expec 
tation  boundless  wealth,  which,  to  his  noble  disposition,  was 
alluring  but  as  the  means  of  unlimited  beneficence.  And, 
direst  of  all  to  him,  then  came  on  the  famous  *  Greek  cause,1 
in  which  the  interests  of  Greece  (then  struggling  for  her 
freedom)  were  to  be  supported  against  the  imputed  frauds 
of  some  New  York  merchants.  Many  commercial  and  mer 
cantile  interests  were  complicated  in  this  cause,  and  an  im 
mense  labor  was  done  by  my  brothers  Harry  and  Robert. 
Harry  brought  to  it  his  indignation  at  violated  justice,  his 
enthusiastic  love  of  freedom,  and  all  the  ferment  of  his  in 
tense  nature.  He  worked  with  his  impaired  eyes  all  day 
and  far  into  ;he  night,  and  when  the  work  was  suspended  he 
was  sleepless  with  anxiety  as  to  its  issue.  The  condition  of 
his  eyesight  deprived  him  of  the  diversion  of  external  ob 
jects,  and  increased  his  natural  tendency  to  concentration. 
The  failure  of  his  business  enterprise  co-operated  to  press 
him  on  to  the  tragic  end,  and  thus  the  clearest  and  most  pow 
erful  intellect  I  have  ever  intimately  known  was  wrecked  I" 

Mr.  Sedgwick  was  insane,  with  lucid  intervals,  for  three 
or  four  years,  when  the  prolonged  nervous  excitement  wore 
out  a  life  which  all  who  knew  him  agree  to  have  been  one 
of  rare  nobility,  strength,  and  beauty. 


1 86  Life  of  Catharine  M,  Scdgwick. 

It  was  the  summer  after  his  first  attack  that  Miss  Seclg- 
wick  published  her  third  novel,  "  Hope  Leslie,"  the  first 
which  had  been  printed  without  his  devoted  care  and  criti 
cism.  It  was  received  with  even  more  favor  than  its  pred 
ecessors,  and  was  indeed,  as  her  note-books  show,  the  result 
of  still  more  careful  study,  while  her  style  acquired  addition 
al  freedom  and  grace  with  each  fresh  effort. 

This  was  a  happy  season  of  her  life,  notwithstanding  the 
overshadowing  cloud  of  her  brother's  illness,  which,  light 
ened  as  it  was  by  constant  hope,  did  not  preclude  the  en 
joyment  of  her  increasing  reputation,  enlarging  circle  of 
friends,  the  proud  attachment  of  her  family,  and  the  rich 
pleasure  of  intellectual  creation. 

Miss  Settgwick  to  A".  M.  Sulgwick. 

"New  York,  March  9,  1827. 

*  *  *  *  «  Mr.  Miller  dined  with  us  yesterday.  He  is  one 
of  our  countrymen  who  has  been  fighting  for  the  poor  Greeks, 
and  he  has  come  home  to  America,  and  told  so  many  sad 
stories  of  their  sufferings  that  he  has  made  many  kind  hearts 
feel  more  for  them  than  they  did  before.  To-day  he  sails 
again  for  Greece  in  a  ship  loaded  with  provisions  for  those 
poor  starving  people.  It  must  be  very  pleasant  to  give  meat 
and  bread  to  good  people  that  are  ready  to  perish.  He 
told  us  of  a  good  man,  a  Mr.  Langdon,  a  rich  American 
merchant  who  lives  in  Smyrna.  This  gentleman  bought  a 
beautiful  little  Grecian  girl  seven  years  old.  You  know  the 
Turks  sometimes  torture,  sometimes  sell,  and  sometimes  kill 
their  Grecian  prisoners,  and  death  is  thought  the  greatest 
mercy  by  those  who  fall  into  their  hands,  so  you  may  think 
how  happy  this  little  girl  felt  to  be  bought  by  an  American, 
who  did  not  make  a  slave  of  her,  but  treated  her  as  his  own 
beloved  child.  But  she  was  not  quite  happy ;  her  father 
had  been  killed,  and  her  mother  and  her  old  grandmother 


Life  and  Letters.  187 

were  in  the  hands  of  the  Turks.  One  day  some  Turks 
brought  a  captive  to  Mr.  Langdon.  It  was  the  little  girl's 
mother,  and  the  Turks  asked  a  great  price  for  her,  because 
they  knew  Mr.  Langdon  was  so  good  that,  for  the  sake  of 
both  mother  and  child,  he  would  certainly  redeem  the  moth 
er,  and  he  did  ;  and  last  of  all  they  brought  the  grandmother 
to  him,  and,  though  she  was  old,  and  good  for  nothing  to 
them,  they  asked  #470  for  her,  and  Mr.  Langdon  paid  it,  and 
now  all  three  live  in  his  house,  and  all  love  him  dearly. 
One  day  he  had  a  very  bad  toothache  in  one  of  his  front 
teeth,  and  he  said  he  must  have  it  out,  and  mentioned  that 
in  his  own  country  they  put  in  other  teeth  in  the  place  of 
decayed  ones.  '  Then,'  said  the  mother,  '  you  shall  have 
one  of  my  teeth  to  supply  yours  ;  with  all  my  heart  I  would 
give  them  all  to  you.'  She  had  a  beautiful  set  of  teeth.  He 
told  us  many  other  agreeable  anecdotes,  and  represented 
the  Greeks  as  a  very  fine  people,  inquisitive,  improving,  very 
graceful,  and  courteous." 

Afiss  Sedgwick  to  Aft:  Robert  Sedgwick. 

44  Lenox,  July  6,  1827. 

****«!  hear  from  all  quarters  what  honestly  seems 
to  me  very  extravagant  praise  of '  Hope  Leslie,'  I  trust  I 
shall  not  be  elated  by  it.  At  present  I  certainly  am  not,  for 
I  feel  too  heavily  oppressed,  too  firmly  grappled  to  the  earth 
to  mount  in  the  balloon  of  vanity.  It  is  fair  that  you  should 
share  whatever  of  praise  is  bestowed — you,  the  faithful  usher 
and  godfather  of  my  little  '  Hope.'  Miss  Francis*  writes 
me  that  she  had  nearly  completed  a  tale,  founded  on  the 
fortunes  of  Captain  Smith.  '  Alas  for  my  Pocahontas !'  she 
says ;  and  then,  after  adding  that  she  shall  give  her  up,  she 
says, '  However,  I  give  her  up  with  less  reluctance  than  the 
artist  whose  labors  of  fifteen  years  were  destroyed  by  the 
•  Afterward  Mrs.  L.  M.  Child. 


1 88  Lifo  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

French  troops  in  their  invasion  of  Italy,  for  I  love  my  con 
queror.'  Is  not  that  beautiful  ?  Better  to  write  and  to  feel 
such  a  sentiment  than  to  indite  volumes.  *  *  *  *  I  was 
very  much  gratified,  the  other  day,  by  a  formal  note  of  thanks 
from  Robbins  here,  as  'one  of  the  descendants  of  the  Pil 
grims/  for  the  manner  in  which  I  had  treated  them.  I 
wanted  this  assurance  from  one  of  the  leal." 

Miss  Stdgwick  to  JK.  M.  Scdgwick. 

"New  York,  December  5,  1827. 

*  *  *  *  "  You  can  not  imagine  what  a  surprise  it  was  to 
us  to  see  your  father.  Aunt  Lizzy  has  a  new  girl,  who,  I  be 
lieve,  thinks  that  she  keeps  tavern,  so  many  persons  have 
come  here  lately.  Sunday  morning  your  Aunt  Watson  ar 
rived,  and  Monday,  when  your  father  came,  the  girl  came 
up  stairs  in  the  greatest  consternation.  *  Ma'am,'  says  she, 
*  there  has  another  person  come,  and  brought  in  his  bag 
gage,  and  seated  himself,  and  won't  tell  his  name.'  I  asked 
if  he  were  young  or  old.  *  Very  young — he  may  be  a  little 
older  than  Mr.  Theodore.'  So  there,  in  the  breakfast-room, 
father  seated  himself,  and  it  was  amusing  to  witness  the  sur 
prise  and  delight  of  the  family,  as  they  assembled  one  by 
one.  What  a  delightful  thing  it  is,  my  Kitty,  to  possess 
such  a  character  as  your  father's  !  Whenever  ho  appears  he 
is  welcome,  and  every  face  is  brightened  with  smiles ;  he 
produces  an  effect  like  the  sun  when  it  suddenly  glances  its 
bright  beams  from  behind  a  cloud,  as  we  have  seen  it  some 
times,  when  it  touched  up  the  mountains,  and  streamed 
athwart  the  valley.  '  House  and  hole'  may  be  full,  but  still 
there  is  always  room  for  father."  *  *  *  * 

On  the  occasion  of  a  report  that  Miss  Sedgwick  was  about 
to  engage  herself  to  a  gentleman  to  whom  her  brother  Theo 
dore  thought  there  were  serious  objections,  he  wrote  her  a 


Life  and  Letters.  189 

letter,  in  which,  after  affectionately  but  forcibly  setting  forth 
his  views,  he  goes  on  to  say  ; 

"  Stockbridgc,  November,  1827. 

"  In  regard  to  your  present  situation,  it  is  certainly  a  sin 
gularly  happy  one ;  you  must  not,  upon  light  grounds,  change 
it.  The  sincere,  tried,  devoted  affection  ^>f  all  the  older 
members  of  the  family,  the  tender  and  filial  reverence  and 
attachment  of  the  younger,  the  admiration  and  respect  of  a 
large  circle  of  friends,  serve  to  bind  you  to  that  spot  and 
confine  you  within  that  circle  in  which  all  these  blessings 
are  enjoyed.  *  *  *  *  To  this  I  can  not  but  add  that  I  look 
forward  to  the  exertion  of  your  literary  talents  as  a  great  na 
tional  blessing,  and  that  I  can  not  willingly  anticipate  any 
contingencies  which  may  deprive  us  of  it." 

Afiss  Sedgwick  to  J\frs,  IVatson. 

41  New  York,  December  23,  1827. 

"  Brother  Theodore  is  here,  on  his  way  to  Boston.  He  is 
still  riding  his  hobby,  the  railroad,  and  I  trust  his  real  devo 
tion  to  the  public  good  will  be  rewarded  by  seeing  this  great 
state  improvement.  Men  are  so  generally  engrossed  with 
the  eager  pursuit  of  wealth  or  pleasure,  some  modification 
of  sensual,  perishable  enjoyment,  that  it  is  refreshing  to  see 
a  man  living  for  more  disinterested  and  generous  purpo- 


Aliss  Scdgwick  to  Afr.  C/ta/'/c-s  Scdgwick. 

"New  /ork,  February  5, 1828. 

*  *  *  *  «  You  know  we  have  had  a  Mr.  Ladd  here  deliv 
ering  peace  lectures.  He  certainly  is  a  man  of  extraordi 
nary  talents.  He  reminds  me  of  Dr.  Mason  in  his  best  days, 
but  he  has  a  far  more  enlightened  mind.  The  whole  course 
of  his  life  has  shown  a  strong  tendency  to  enthusiasm  in  the 
noblest  of  all  causes,  the  cause  of  human  happiness.  You 


190  Lift:  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

will  see  a  little  notice  of  him  in  'The  Post1  of  to-morrow.  I 
don't  know  when  I  have  been  so  much  interested  and  de 
lighted  by  any  body.  Enthusiasm  fed  by  reason  is  sacred 
fire  on  a  holy  altar.  *  *  *  *  Figure  to  yourself  a  man  of  al 
most  Uncle  John's  stature,  with  a  face  expressive  of  acute- 
ness  and  benevolence,  and  a  voice  that  sounds  like  the  spir 
it  of  the  north  wind,  with  a  Yankee  pronunciation,  and  an 
energy  of  manner  that  expresses  the  earnestness  of  the  soul. 
When  he  came  here  he  met  with  every  discouragement. 
The  clergy  said,  *  Be  ye  warmed  and  be  ye  fed/  but  did  not 
lift  a  finger.  He  w.as  told  he  would  have  no  audience,  but 
he  replied, '  Give  me  one  candle-snuffer  and  one  auditor,  and 
I  will  lecture.' " 

In  1828  Mrs.  Charles  Sedgwick  received  into  her  house  a 
few  children,  to  educate  with  her  own,  and  this  was  the  be 
ginning  of  the  family  school,  since  so  widely  known  and  so 
justly  celebrated,  which  closed  only  with  her  life  in  1864. 
She  wrote  also  several  books  for  children,  among  them  '  The 
Beatitudes/  which  many  must  recollect  as  among  the  liter 
ary  treasures  of  their  childhood  ;  and  she  contributed,  under 
the  signature  of  Mater,  to  the  Juvenile  Miscellany,  a  charm 
ing  little  periodical  edited  for  years  by  Mrs,  Child.  The 
following  letter  shows  the  lively  and  practical  interest  taken 
by  Miss  Sedgwick  in  even  the  smallest  details  that  con 
cerned  her  friends. 

Miss  S&lgwtek  to  Mrs,  Charles  Sedgwick, 

"New  York,  February  15, 1828. 

*  *  *  *  "  The  publishing  committee  have  paid  for  tracts 
— perhaps  not  quite  as  much  as  the  Miscellany,  but  decent 
ly.  I  do  not  know  whether  they  do  now,  but  I  dare  say,  if 
they  do  not,  Bowles  and  Dearborn  would,  and  Harry,  who 
is,  for  his  friends,  literary  broker,  would  make  a  bargain  for 


Life  and  Letters.  191 

you.  I  think  you  had  best  copy  it  again.  Make  each  Beat 
itude  a  complete  piece  in  itself.  Draw  a  deep  black  line  at 
the  conclusion  of  each,  and  leave  a  space,  and  begin  each  a 
little  more  formally ;  have  all  the  explanations  and  excur 
sive  conversation  first,  and  finish  each  with  a  little  anecdote 
or  story  by  way  of  illustration.  You  have  abundant  mat 
ter,  and  all  these  little  arts  of  arrangement  help  the  effect. 
These  are  suggestions,  my  dear  sister,  and  not  dictates, 
though  my  curt  manner  of  expression  may  give  them  the 
Basil  Hall  aspect." 

1'he  "  Basil  Hall  aspect"  refers  to  a  long  letter  addressed 
by  that  gentleman  (who  had  then  recently  been  on  a  visit  to 
Stockbridge)  to  Miss  Sedgwick,  at  the  suggestion  of  a  mu 
tual  friend,  criticising  the  style  of  her  writings  in  the  habit 
ual  tone  of  an  Englishman,  holding  himself  entitled  as  an 
Englishman  to  lay  down  the  law  on  all  matters  of  taste  and 
precedent.  She  replied  to  him  with  admirable  candor  and 
good  temper,  and  at  the  same  time  with  a  dignified  asser 
tion  of  her  right  to  independence  of  judgment  He  apolo 
gized  for  having  displeased  her,  but  they  parted  rather  cold 
ly.  When,  however,  Miss  Sedgwick  went  to  England  in 
1839,  Captain  Hull  was  the  most  kind,  cordial,  and  devoted 
of  friends,  as  she  has  recorded  in  her  journal,  and  they  main 
tained  ever  after  an  occasional  correspondence  with  mutual 
pleasure. 

Miss  Scdgwick's  acquaintance  with  the  celebrated  histo 
rian  Sismondi  was  begun  the  previous  year,  by  her  sending 
him,  through  the  persuasion  of  her  brother  Harry,  a  transla 
tion  which  she  made  of  one  of  his  essays,  accompanied  by 
a  copy  of  Hope  Leslie.  She  at  once  received  a  warm  letter 
of  thanks,  to  which  the  following  is  the  answer,  and  this  was 
the  opening  of  a  regular  correspondence,  continued  with  in- 


IQ2  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgivick. 

creasing  interest  on  both  sides  till  his  death  in  1842,  and 
afterward  kept  up  by  his  wife. 

Jlftss  Sedgwick  to  Jlf.  Sistnondi^  Geneva,  Switzerland. 

"  New  York,  March  15,  1828. 

"Mv  DEAR  SIR, — Licensed  by  your  permission,  I  venture 
again  to  address  you,  and  to  attempt  to  tell  you  how  much 
pleasure  your  letter  gave  me,  and  diffused  through  a  large 
circle  of  your  admirers  and  my  friends.  I  would  convey  to 
you  a  sense  of  the  benefit  done  me,  for,  to  a  benevolent 
spirit,  it  must  be  one  of  the  dearest  felicities  of  high  exalta 
tion  that  its  light  falls  on  the  distant  and  the  humble.  But, 
after  all,  you  can  not  estimate*  the  benefit,  for  you  are  not 
aware  of  the  homage  your  writings  have  inspired  ;  and,  more 
than  this,  you  can  not  know  (no  one  can  who  is  not  person 
ally  a  stranger  to  you)  that  you  infuse  into  them  a  moral 
life,  that  you  breathe  your  own  soul  into  them,  impart  to 
them — if  I  may  thus  express  myself — a  portion  of  your  own 
identity.  This  seems  to  me  to  be  one  of  their  attractive 
and  attaching  peculiarities.  It  is  this  that  makes  us  feel 
them  to  be  the  production  of  a  being  whose  affections  and 
sympathies  are  kindred  to  our  own  ;  his  happiness  becomes 
a  matter  of  personal  interest  to  us,  and  his  kind  notice  falls 
on  the  heart  like  the  familiar  voice  of  a  friend,  touching  the 
mysterious  springs  of  the  affections. 

"The  notice  you  have  bestowed  on  'Hope  Leslie'  has 
made  me  anxious  to  redeem  a  fault  I  have  unintentionally 
committed  in  so  delineating  the  Pilgrims  as  to  degrade  them 
in  your  estimation.  I  meant  to  touch  their  characters  with 
filial  reverence.  Their  bigotry,  their  superstition,  and,  above 
all,  their  intolerance,  were  too  apparent  on  the  page  of  his 
tory  to  be  forgotten.  But  these  were  the  vices  of  their  age, 
and  they  were  only  partially  disengaged  from  the  chains  that 
bound  their  contemporaries.  They  deserved,  in  a  good  de- 


Life  and  Letters.  193 

gree,  the  opinion  you  have  entertained  of  them.  They  had 
a  most  generous  and  self-devoting  zeal  to  the  cause  of  lib- 
erty,  so  far  as  they  understood  it,  but  they  were  still  in  the 
thraldom  of  Judaic  superstition,  and  adhered  steadfastly,  as 
unhappily  a  majority  of  their  descendants  do,  to  Calvin's 
gloomy  interpretation  of  Scripture,  even  now  the  popular 
dogmas  in  our  enlightened  country.  It  is  but  right  that  a 
sweet  fountain  should  be  opened  at  Geneva,  whence  such 
bitter  streams  have  flowed. 

"  Our  early  history  has,  I  believe,  been  more  accurately  and 
minutely  written  than  that  of  any  other  people.  Our  good 
fathers  maintained  an  unwavering  faith  that  they  were  under 
the  special  and  even  visible  government  of  Providence,  and 
this  strong  conviction  gave  importance  and  religious  sancti 
ty  to  the  most  trifling  circumstance.  Theirs  was,  as  you 
say,  a  family  history,  and  if  a  lamb  strayed  beyond  its 
bounds,  or  an  untimely  shower  fell  on  the  reapers,  the  mis 
haps  were  a  common  concern,  and  were  carefully  recorded. 
'  Mishaps  !'  I  am  but  a  degenerate  child.  The  greatest  as 
well  as  the  smallest  events  were  shaped  by  Providence  for 
them  ;  the  great  agents  of  nature  were  made  subsidiary  to 
their  purposes;  the  storm  that  'curled  the  monstrous  waves' 
was  raised  to  wreck  some  profane  heretic  who  had  presumed 
to  scoff  at  the  orthodox  faith,  and  the  frost  that  congealed 
a  whole  continent  was  sent  to  freeze  a  poor  barber's  fingers, 
1  whose  tongue  was  more  nimble  than  his  fingers,  and  who 
jested  withal  about  the  ciders'  discipline.'  Your  historical 
pursuits  may  inspire  you  with  some  curiosity  to  see  a  speci 
men  of  our  early  documents,  and  I  have  therefore  selected 
an  authentic  work  which  has  the  merit  of  being  character 
istic  of  the  times  it  illustrates.  I  shall  send  also  an  oration 
by  one  of  our  most  eminent  men,  which,  as  it  refers  to  the 
same  period,  and  is  in  itself  an  eloquent  production,  may  not 
be  unacceptable  to  you.  I  shall  venture  also  to  inclose  to 

I 


194  £{fe  °f  Catharine  JW.  Sedgwick. 

you  an  essay  on  the  character  of  Napoleon  (that  prodigy  of 
our  own  times),  written  by  Dr.  Channing,  of  Boston,  whose 
name  has  probably  reached  you,  and  whose  philosophic  and 
original  mind  is  employed  in  illustrating  topics  of  high  mor 
al  interest. 

"  I  need  not  assure  you  that  I  shall  esteem  it  a  favor  at 
any  time  to  send  you  such  literary  productions  as  may  be 
worthy  of  your  attention,  and  I  should  only  be  restrained  by 
my  ignorance  of  what  communication  you  may  have  with 
us,  and  by  the  fear  of  being  obtrusive. 

"  Once  more  M.  de  Sismoiidi  must  permit  me  to  thank 
him ;  the  sunbeams  may  fall  unregarded  on  the  palace,  but 
the  rays  that  enter  the  cottage  window  are  felt  and  enjoyed. 
*  *  *  *  I  was  particularly  gratified  that  Madame  Sismondi 
approved  my  translation,  for  I  am  certain  it  must  be  far 
more  difficult  to  satisfy  the  requisitions  of  her  affections  than 
the  demands  of  your  self-esteem.  I  beg  she  will  accept  my 
best  wishes." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Rev.  £>r.  Channhtg. 

"  New  York,  April  28,  1828. 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — My  brother  Robert  promised  me 
he  would  himself  answer  your  inquiries  relative  to  the  suc 
cess  of  the  monitorial  system  of  instruction  in  this  city.  I 
find  that  the  pressure  of  his  office  business  has  as  yet  pre 
vented  his  writing,  and,  though  I  have  nothing  to  communi 
cate  in  reply  to  your  request,  I  can  not  consent  any  longer 
to  appear  guilty  in  your  eyes  of  such  gross  negligence.  The 
result  of  all  the  observations  my  brother  has  been  able  to 
make  seems  to  be  that  the  monitorial  system  is  chiefly  rec 
ommended  by  its  superior  cheapness.  I  am  myself  so  igno 
rant  on  the  subject  that  it  would  be  presumptuous  in  me  to 
say  any  thing — indeed  you  are  so  wise  in  Boston  that  per 
haps  uniform  silence  would  be  our  best  discretion.  Mr. 


Life  and  Letters.  195 

Ware  gave  me  sad  accounts  of  your  high-school.  Is  it  pos 
sible  that  you  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  knowledge 
will  make  your  people  less  useful  and  less  happy  ?  If  the 
servants  become  wiser  than  their  mistresses,  and  the  ladies 
have  their  own  labor  to  perform  at  last,  it  will  but  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  inferior  class.  But  this  is  horrible  democ 
racy — -treason  against  my  caste.  Hojvever,  I  can  not  believe 
that  knowledge  disqualifies  for  any  thing.  It  would  make 
the  girls  more  contented  and  more  efficient.  It  would  ena 
ble  them  to  perform  their  labors  in  half  the  usual  time,  and 
give  them  grace  to  submit  to  all  the  allotments  of  Provi 
dence.  *  *  *  *  Are  we  not  to  see  you  here  this  spring? 
When  I  think  of  all  that  has  been  done  and  suffered  to 
Christianize  the  earth  \  how  the  ocean  has  been  crossed,  and 
trackless  deserts  penetrated,  to  preach  to  the  ends  of  the 
world,  I  can  not  but  wonder  that  there  is  not  enough  zeal  to 
prompt  some  of  our  apostles  to  come  to  this  great  mission 
ary  field,  where  there  are  more  to  whom  the  Word  might  be 
addressed  than  could  be  found  in  traveling  thousands  of 
miles.  Here  is  the  grand  point  for  distribution  over  the 
continent.  There  are  one  or  two  (and  not  more)  who  break 
down  all  barriers  when  they  are  here ;  the  rest,  as  to  pros 
elyting,  might  as  well  stay  at  home  and  preach  to  their  own 
people.  *  *  *  *  Mr.  Walker  gave  us  two  stirring  sermons 
yesterday.  He  would  do  infinite  good  here,  and,  if  the  doc 
trine  is  worth  propagating,  it  is  his  paramount  duty  to  come 
here.  It  is  the  duty  of  your  association  to  send  him,  and  of 
his  friends  to  give  him  up,  for  a  glorious  cause.  At  least,  to 
speak  more  modestly,  it  is  so  borne  in  upon  our  minds. 
Will  you  present  me  affectionately  to  Mrs.  Charming  ?  For 
give  this  bold  and  hasty  letter,  and  believe  me  yours  truly 
and  gratefully,  C.  M.  SEDGWICK." 

There  are  people,  and  not  altogether  thoughtless  people 


196  Life  of  Catharine  JMT.  Sedgwicfc. 

either,  who,  looking  upon  so  bright  and  cheerful,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  so  rich  and  varied  a  life  as  these  letters  portray, 
seeing  the  atmosphere  of  refinement,  culture,  and  love  in 
which  it  was  passed,  and  the  sweet,  thoughtful,  and  sympa 
thetic  temper  with  which  its  various  events  were  met,  would 
say,  how  perfectly  happy  such  a  woman  must  have  been  ! 
how  complete  her  satisfaction  in  life  1  They  forget  that  this 
very  vivacity  and  sympathy  bring  their  corresponding  pains, 
and  that  a  nature  so  finely  strung,  so  delicately  sensitive  to 
happiness,  must  have  equal  susceptibility  to  suffering.  Her 
niece,  Mrs.  Minot,  speaking  of  a  time  somewhat  later  than 
this,  and  when  she  was  accustomed  to  pass  her  summers  in 
Lenox  with  her  brother  Charles,  and  to  go  for  the  winter  to 
a  home  scarcely  less  dear  in  New  York,  says :  "  One  of  the 
most  vivid  recollections  of  my  childhood  is  of  her  agony  of 
grief  (this  is  not  an  exaggerated  phrase)  as  the  time  of  her 
leaving  us  approached.  Before  the  day  of  railroads  she 
went  to  Hudson  by  stage,  and  thence  by  boat  to  New  York. 
She  always  delayed  going  till  the  very  last  boat,  and  some 
times  staid  too  long,  till  the  ice  had  blocked  the  river,  and 
she  had  to  make  a  long,  circuitous  land  journey.  A  deep 
gloom  hung  over  her  spirits,  and  she  used  to  take  leave  of 
us  as  if  she  should  never  see  us  again.  To  be  sure,  separa 
tion  from  your  friends  in  the  winter,  in  those  days  of  slow 
communication,  was  a  very  different  thing  from  what  it  is 
now." 

But  there  are  secret  shadows  on  the  spirit,  gloomy  pas 
sages  through  which  all  tender  and  sensitive  souls  must 
walk,  or  they  would  not  be  what  they  are — griefs  not  be 
trayed  during  life  to  the  dearest  friends,  unspoken  sufferings 
from  which  few  are  exempt,  and  from  which  none  who  know 
the  rich  experience  they  bring  would  desire  to  be  free. 
From  the  sacred  and  touching  record  of  such  feelings,  un 
veiled  by  death  for  reverent  eyes,  if  the  following  passage  be 


JLife  and  Letters.  197 

presented  to  assist  in  producing  a  living  portrait  of  its  wri 
ter,  it  is  that  she  herself  would  seem,  near  the  close,  to  au 
thorize  it,  and  to  bequeath  this  shade  of  experience  for  use 
to  others.  - 


"  New  York,  May  18,  1828.  Again  the  spring  is  here,  the 
season  of  life  and  loveliness,  the  beautiful  emblem  of  our 
resurrection  unto  life  eternal.  I  have  seen  the  country 
again  arrayed  in  its  green  robe,  with  its  budding  honors 
thick  upon  it,  the  brimful  streams,  all  Nature  steeped  in 
perfume,  as  if  the  gates  of  Paradise  were  thrown  open,  and 
the  air  ringing  with  the  wild  notes  of  every  bird  upon  the 
wing.  Even  the  poor  little  prisoners  that  are  hanging  be 
side  the  walls  in  our  pent-up  yards  open  their  throats  to 
pour  out  the  hymn  of  the  season,  and  Poll  Parrot  jabbers, 
laughs,  and  screams  a  wild  note  of  joy.  I  will  not  say,  with 
the  ungracious  poet,  that  I  turn  from  what  Spring  brings  to 
what  she  can  not  bring,  but  alas  1  I  find  there  is  no  longer 
that  capacity  for  swelling,  springing,  brightening  joy  that  I 
once  felt.  Memory  has  settled  her  shadowy  curtain  over 
too  much  of  the  space  of  thought,  and  Hope,  that  once  to 
my  imagination  tempted  me  with  her  arch,  and  laughing, 
and  promising  face,  to  snatch  away  the  veil  with  which  she 
but  half  hid  the  future  —  Hope  now  seems  to  turn  from  me  ; 
and  if  I  now  and  then  catch  some  glimpses  of  her  averted 
face,  she  looks  so  serious,  so  admonitory,  that  I  almost  be 
lieve  that  her  sister  Experience,  with  an  eye  of  apprehen 
sion,  and  lips  that  never  smile,  has  taken  her  place.  All  is 
not  right  with  me,  I  know.  I  still  build  on  sandy  founda 
tions  j  J  still  hope  for  perfection,  where  perfection  is  not 
given.  The  best  sources  of  earthly  happiness  are  not  with 
in  my  grasp  —  those  of  contentment  I  have  neglected.  I 
have  suffered  for  the  whole  winter  a  sort  of  mental  paraly- 


198  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

sis,  and  at  times  I  have  feared  the  disease  extended  to  my 
affections.     It  is  difficult  for  one  who  began  life  as  I  did, 
the  primary  object  of  affection  to  many,  to  come  by  degrees 
to  be  first  to  none,  and  still  to  have  my  love  remain  in  its 
entire  strength,  and  craving  such  returns  as  have  no  substi 
tute.     How  absurd,  how  groundless  your  complaints  I  would 
half  a  dozen  voices  exclaim,  if  I  ever  ventured  to  make  'this 
complaint.     I  do  not.     Each  one  has  his  own  point  of  sight. 
Others  are  not  conscious — at  least  I  believe  they  are  not — of 
any  diminution  in  their  affections  for  me,  but  others  have 
taken  my  place,  naturally  and  of  right,  I  allow  it.     It  is  the 
necessity  of  a  solitary  condition,  an  unnatural  state.     He 
who  gave  us  our  nature  has  set  the  solitary  in  families,  and 
has,  by  an  array  of  motives,  secured  this  sweet  social  com 
pact  to  his  children.     From  my  own  experience  I  would  not 
advise  any  one  to  remain  unmarried,  for  my  experience  has 
been  a  singularly  happy  one.     My  feelings  have  never  been 
embittered  by  those  slights  and  taunts  that  the  repulsive 
and  neglected  have  to  endure ;  there  has  been  no  period 
of  my  life  to  the  present  moment  when  I  might  not  have  al 
lied  myself  respectably,  and  to  those  sincerely  attached  to 
me,  if  I  would.     I  have  always  felt  myself  to  be  an  object 
of  attention,  respect,  and  regard,  and,  though  notyJ/j/  to  any, 
I  am,  like  Themistocles,  second  to  a  great  many.     My  for 
tune  is  not  adequate  to  an  independent  establishment,  but 
it  is  ample  for  ease  to  myself  and  liberality  to  others.     In 
the  families  of  all  my  brothers  I  have  an  agreeable  home. 
My  sisters  are  all  kind  and  affectionate  to  me,  my  brothers 
generous  and  invariably  kind  ;  their  children  all  love  me. 
My  dear  Kate,  my  adopted  child,  is,  though  far  from  perfect 
even  in  my  doting  eyes,  yet  such  as  to  perfectly  satisfy  me, 
if  I  did  not  crave  perfection  for  one  I  so  tenderly  love.     I 
have  troops  of  friends,  some  devotedly  attached  to  me,  and 
yet  the  result  of  all  this  very  happy  experience  is  that  there 


Life  and  Letters.  199 

is  no  equivalent  for  those  blessings  which  Providence  has 
placed  first,  and  ordained  that  they  should  be  purchased  at 
the  dearest  sacrifice.  I  have  not  set  this  down  in  a  spirit 
of  repining,  but  it  is  well,  I  think,  honestly  to  expose  our 
own  feelings  —  they  may  serve  for  examples  or  beacons. 
While  I  live  I  do  not  mean  this  shall  be  read,  and  after,  my 
individual  experience  may  perhaps  benefit  some  one  of  all 
my  tribe.  I  ought,  I  know,  to  be  grateful  and  humble,  and 
I  do  hope,  through  the  grace  of  God,  to  rise  more  above  the 
world,  to  attain  a  higher  and  happier  state  of  feeling,  to  or 
der  my  house  for  that  better  world  where  self  may  lose 
something  of  its  engrossing  power."  *  *  *  * 

Another  extract  from  the  same  private  journal,  referring 
to  Mrs.  Follen,  may  be  admitted  for  its  beauty  of  feeling  and 
description,  now  that  the  only  person  whose  modesty  could 
be  pained  by  its  appearance  has  been  called  with  her  friend 
to  another,  and,  as  they  both  believed,  a  larger  and  happier 
sphere. 

"Boston,  September  15,  1828.  Eliza  Cabot's  wedding-day. 
I  have  been  with  her  through  the  week  preceding  her  mar 
riage,  and  have  seen  her  character  come  out  like  thrice-re 
fined  gold.  Never  have  I  witnessed  such  a  sweet  serenity, 
like  the  mild  and  continual  shining  of  the  sun  on  a  rugged 
way,  such  celestial  feeling — devotion,  benevolence,  charity, 
sisterly  love,  friendship,  all  receiving  their  dues,  and  love, 
that  selfish,  engrossing  passion,  only  serving  to  give  in 
creased  vitality  to  all  the  rest."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Afrs.  Watson, 

"  Boston,  September  20,  1828. 

"  I  went  on  Thursday  to  the  celebration  of  the  two  hun 
dredth  anniversary  at  Salem.  It  was  a  beautiful  day.  This 


200  Life  of  Catharine  1W.  Sedgwick. 

magnificent  bay  sprinkled  with  its  islands,  and  floating  on 
its  bosom  the  wondrous  messengers  of  every  land ;  the 
shores  covered  with  cheerful  dwellings,  all  manifesting  pros 
perity,  activity,  and  enjoyment ;  and  then  the  rocky  and  ster 
ile  land,  calling  up  affecting  remembrances  of  those  whose 
virtues  we  were  going  to  celebrate,  all  prepared  us  for  the 
day.  The  homogeneous  population  of  this  part  of  the  coun 
try  shows  off  such  a  scene  to  great  advantage.  At  New 
York  there  can  not  be  a  common  sentiment.  Here  the  old 
man  and  the  little  child,  the  high  and  the  humble,  feel  the 
same  blood  stirred  by  the  same  thoughts.  Judge  Story  was 
very  sensible  and  animated,  and  did  not  tire  us  with  a  two- 
hours1  harangue.  We  dined  at  his  house.  Old  Dr.  Holioke, 
a  man  past  his  hundredth  birthday,  walking  firmly  and  erect, 
and  looking  like  the  representative  of  far-gone  ages,  was 
present,  and  gave  great  interest  to  the  scene.  At  the  din 
ner  Judge  Story  held  up  a  large  pewter  platter,  a  relic  which 
belonged  to  the  first  settlers,  filled  with  an  indifferent  pear, 
called  the  Endicott  pear,  planted  by  the  first  Governor  En- 
dicott.  '  Here/  he  said,  *  is  what  the  Pilgrims  had  ;'  and 
then,  elevating  an  elegant  silver  basket  filled  with  necta 
rines,  peaches,  and  grapes,  'here/  he  said,  Ms  what  their 
children  have.' " 

journal. 

" Lenox,  December  31,  1828.  My  poor  brother!  Thanks 
to  thce,  merciful  God,  that  it  is  not  crime,  nor  the  suspicion 
of  crime,  that  we  bewail.  Beset  with  fear  and  dread,  I  have 
been  made  at  moments  to  feel  thankful  that  I  knew  it  was 
a  sickness  of  the  mind,  the  greatest  physical  calamity,  and 
not  a  moral  derangement.  But  to  see  a  mind  once  so  pow 
erful,  so  effective,  so  luminous,  darkened,  disordered,  a  bro 
ken  instrument — to  see  him  stared  at  by  the  vulgar,  the 
laugh  of  children — oh,  it  is  too  much  I  and  yet  his  reason 


Life  and  Letters.  201 

and  his  affections  are  struggling  with  this  evil.  His  love 
seems  an  inextinguishable  light ;  it  shines  through  the  dark 
ness." 

"January  25,  1829.  My  dear  Charles  returned  the  i4th 
of  January.  The  result  of  his  journey  was  better  than  we 
hoped.  *  *  *  *  If  we  still  retained  the  ancient  and  horri 
ble  belief  in  the  possession  of  evil  spirits,  we  might  believe 
that  our  poor  brother's  tormentors  were  rebuked  by  the 
Spirit  of  God  which  dwelleth  in  Charles.  Harry  was  yield 
ing  and  docile  as  a  submissive  child  in  his  hands.  This 
was  not  a  supernatural  agency,  but  that  admirable  sagacity 
that  discerns  the  most  subtle  operations  of  the  mind — that 
tenderness  of  feeling  that  enables  a  person  of  such  exquisite 
sensibility  as  Charles  to  transfuse  himself  into  another,  to 
guard  every  avenue  of  feeling,  to  touch  the  broken  instru 
ment  with  a  master's  hand,  and  bring  forth  music  where 
others  only  produce  discord.  There  was  always  a  confi 
dence  in  his  manner  to  Harry,  respect,  and  tenderness.  He 
was  sometimes  sportive,  and  threw  a  light  on  the  follies  of 
his  insanity — not  the  sudden  flash  that  irritates,  but  a  laugh 
ing  sunbeam."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Setlgwick  to  Mr.  Charles  Scdgwick. 

"  New  York,  February  2, 1829. 

"  I  have  taken  my  pen  (would  it  were  a  better  one),  not 
so  much  to  gratify  you,  my  beloved  Charles,  as  because  I 
feel  the  necessity  of  holding  some  communion  with  you — a 
hankering^  a  hungering  and  thirsting  to  be  near  you.  I  usu 
ally  come  to  my  room  at  this  hour,  the  time  when  Elizabeth 
sallies  forth  for  her  evening  walk,  and  give  it  to  those 
thoughts  and  feelings  that  come  unbidden,  that  press  upon 
us — come  ?  they  are  what  constitute  our  mind  and  its  affec 
tions.  You  know,  my  dear  Charles,  that  you  are  with  me 
in  these  quiet  and  tender  meditations ;  my  brother,  more 

I  2 


202  £ife  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick, 

than  brother.  I  know  nothing  of  love,  of  memory,  of  hope, 
of  which  you  are  not  an  essential  part.  If  ever  I  attain  to 
any  adequate  conception  of  the  purity,  and  peace,  and  in 
tensity  of  heavenly  affections,  it  is  from  that  I  feel  for  you. 
In  all  that  I  have  been  unfaithful  to  you,  that  I  have  disap 
pointed  and  afflicted  you,  I  feel  that  my  own  forgiveness  is 
far  more  difficult  than  yours  to  be  obtained." 

Af/'ss  Sedgwick  to  Afr.  JRobert  Sedgwick. 

"  Stockbridgc,  August,  1829, 

*  #  #  #  «  Oh,  I  never  shall  forget  this  pleasant  visit  to 
you  I  If  I  had  gone  the  grand  tour  in  search  of  pleasure, 
I  should  not  have  found  so  much.  You,  my  dear  Robert, 
are  wiser  and  better  than  almost  any  body  I  ever  knew  in 
seizing  and  improving  those  opportunities  of  happiness  that 
others  pass  by  either  churlishly,  or  ignorantly,  or  recklessly. 
How  much  they  lose,  and  how  much  you  gain  I  The  affec 
tions  are,  like  the  elements  of  water,  and  air,  and  all  the 
common  bounties  of  Providence,  given  to  all,  and  in  what 
sad  neglect  they  are  permitted  to  lie  J — like  waste  and  bar 
ren  sands  that  might  be  filled  with  exquisite  flowers  and 
fruits.  *  *  *  *  I  had  a  singular '  compagnon  du  voyage'  in 
the  stage-coach — one  of  the  Geibs,  a  brother  of  him  of  whom 
we  purchased  the  piano.  He,  too,  is  an  eminent  musician, 
and  was  traveling  for  his  health,  and  to  tune  Kitty's  piano 
by  the  way.  He  has  lived  in  all  the  quarters  of  the  globe  ; 
is  an  observer  and  a  philosopher;  has  a  good  deal  of  gen 
ius,  and  a  good  deal  of  that  proud  sort  of  conceit  that  the 
original  thinkers  of  an  inferior  station  are  apt  to  get.  He 
and  I  were  the  only  talkers  in  the  stage,  as  graduates  hold 
a  colloquy  on  the  stage.  Our  companions  dropped  off  by 
the  way,  and  we  left  Barrington  tdte~&tGte.  He  was  aware 
that  I  belonged  to  the  Sedgwick  concern,  and  that  was  all. 
'  Can  you  inform  me,  ma'am,'  he  said,  *  whether  I  shall-  see 


Life  and  Letters.  203 

the  authoress  of  Redwood  ?'  and  when  I  pleaded  guilty,  he 
complimented  me  by  saying  that  he  concluded  by  my  con 
versation  that  I  was  *  a  person  of  reading  and  reflection  !'  " 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  Watson. 

41  New  York,  January  18,  1830. 

"  MY  DEAREST  FRANCES, — I  found  two  letters  here  from 
you  when  I  returned  from  Philadelphia.  I  received  civili 
ties  enough  to  turn  a  younger  head  than  mine  ;  but  age  has 
too  many  sad  and  heavy  realities  to  permit  us  to  be  dazzled 
by  a  little  sunshine.  Philadelphia  is  a  delightful  place.  I 
saw  probably  the  very  best  aspect  of  its  society — the  culti 
vated,  enlightened,  and  accomplished.  They  are  like  the 
Bostonians  in  giving  the  honor  due  to  intellectual  merit  in 
their  estimation  and  cultivation  of  the  mind,  but  they  have 
more  ease,  facility,  and  grace.  They  do  not  seem  to  be 
afraid  to  speak  lest  they  should  commit  themselves  for  life. 
The  climate  has  a  more  genial  influence  \  they  are  more 
mercurial,  without  being  frivolous  or  flippant.  In  one  re 
spect  they  appeared  to  me  to  be  inferior — the  judgment  of 
a  stranger  should  be  very  modest — there  is  much  less  relig 
ious  sentiment  in  the  higher  classes,  more  indifference  to  the 
subject,  as  if  it  were  only  fit  to  interest  the  vulgar  and  the 
weaker  sex. 

"  On  my  return  I  passed  a  day  at  Burlington  at  Mrs.  Brad 
ford's,  the  daughter  of  Elias  Boudinot,  and  once  the  com 
panion  of  General  Washington  and  all  that  coterie.  She  has 
the  freshness  and  vigor  of  middle  life  with  the  raciness  of 
the  olden  time.  She  had  known  and  admired  our  dear  fa 
ther,  and  received  me  with  warmth  as  the  daughter  of  a 
friend.  She  keeps  up  all  the  stateliness  of  the  old  style, 
gracefully  softened  by  the  comfort  and  ease  of  modern  times, 
which  is  something  like  the  influence  of  the  sweet  Southwest 
in  walks  of  regular  and  lofty  trees." 


204  Life  of  Catharine  M  Scdgwick. 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  K.  M.  Sedgwick. 

44  New  York,  January  24, 1830. 

"  MY  DEAREST  CHILD, — Your  sweet  letter,  so  neatly  writ 
ten  that  it  gave  me  great  hopes  that,  even  if  your  coming  to 
me  depends  on  your  carefulness,  I  shall  not  be  disappointed, 
arrived  some  days  since.  *  *  *  *  Letter-writing  is  one  of  the 
accomplishments  I  hope  you  will  excel  in.  Letters,  if  we 
are  social  and  affectionate  as  we  should  be,  we  must  write, 
and  of  course  they  are  constantly-recurring  opportunities  of 
giving  pleasure.  Now,  dear  Kate,  it  is  best  to  begin  life 
with  setting  a  right  value  on  these  small  occasions  of  doing 
good,  for  they  make  up  a  great  sum.  Letters  should  be  af 
fectionate,  natural,  and  graceful — almost  every  body  can  get 
as  far  as  that — then  make  them  as  witty,  or  sensible,  or  in 
any  way  agreeable  as  you  can."  *  *  *  * 

"Clarence"  was  brought  out  in  1830,  the  first,  and,  with 
one  exception,  the  only  one  of  Miss  Sedgwick's  larger  works 
whose  scene  is  New  York  in  the  modern  time.  It  is  the 
most  romantic,  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  wittiest  of  her  nov 
els,  and  while  it  fascinated  younger  readers  by  its  story,  it 
charmed  elder  minds  by  its  high-bred  intelligence,  and  its 
sweet  and  noble  humanity. 

The  letters  in  "  Clarence"  are  particularly  fine,  and  might 
serve  as  models  in  the  art,  besides  being  characterized  by 
strong  dramatic  individuality. 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mr.  Charles  Sedgwick. 

"  New  York,  March  7, 1830. 

*  *  *  *  «  Of  all  the  labors  that  I  ever  have  undertaken, 
copying  is  the  severest.  I  have  now  nearly  come  to  the  end 
of  my  first  volume,  and  hope  to  finish  it  on  Tuesday,  so  that 
that  will  be  completely  ready  for  the  printer,  and  the  rest  I 


Life  and  Letters.  205 

shall  do  without  the  painful  sense  of  being  hurried.  I  be 
lieve  I  wrote  to  you,  but  I  am  not  sure,  that  R.  sold  the  copy 
right  of  an  edition  of  2000,  to  be  printed  uniform  with  *  Hope 
Leslie/  for  $1200.  I  am  quite  satisfied  with  this.  It  in 
sures  me  that  compensation  and  a  good  publisher.  I  be 
lieve  that  is  as  much  as  they  can  afford  to  give.  They  say 
in  their  letter  that  the  cheap  reprints  of  popular  English 
novels  have  reduced  the  value  of  copyright  productions  as 
much  as  Hope  Leslie  has  raised  the  reputation  of  mine. 
I  am  not  satisfied  with  Clarence,  and  never  shall  be  with 
any  thing  I  write.  That  is  the  misfortune  of  a  familiarity 
with  fine  works,  carrying  your  taste  so  far  ahead  of  your  ca 
pacity  ;  but  I  do  think  (and  perhaps  that  augurs  ill  for  its 
real  merit — it  may  be  the  old  story  of  the  mother  and  the 
rickety  child  over  again) — but  I  do  think,  nevertheless,  that 
it  has  a  great  deal  more  in  it  than  any  thing  else  I  have 
written,  and  that  it  is  better  adapted  to  the  general  taste  of 
novel-readers  I  am  sure,  because  it  has  romantic  faults,  and 
because  it  has  something  to  do  with  every-day  and  present 
life.  I  miss  excessively,  more  than  words  can  tell,  the  light 
and  repose  of  dear  Harry's  criticisms.  I  felt  a  reliance  on 
him  that  I  can  never  feel  on  another ;  a  confidence  that  I 
should  not  expose  myself  to  any  severe  criticism;  and  I  miss 
the  sweet  excitement  of  Jane's  eager  interest.  To  balance 
these,  I  have  more  experience,  and  consequently  far  more 
self-confidence,  and  I  have  vastly  less  fear  or  care  about  the 
result.  I  have  tasted  the  pleasure  of  reputation,  and  know 
what  it  is  worth,  and  I  know  it  is  not  one  of  the  ministers  of 
the  inner  sanctuary.  Dearest  Charles,  I  should  make  an 
apology  to  almost  any  one  else  for  all  this  about  myself,  but 
I  consider  that  whatever  is  my  concern  is  just  about  as 
much  yours.11 


206  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Dr.  Pomeroy. 

"New  York,  March  13,  1830. 

"  MY  DEAR  BROTHER, — I  can  not  bear  that  my  whole  win 
ter's  campaign  should  pass  away  without  any  communication 
with  you.     I  am  not  satisfied  with  contriving  Fictitious  hap 
piness  and  fictitious  misery.     My  heart  reverts  to  the  real 
and  bitter  sorrows  that  cloud  our  life,  and  my  thoughts  to 
the  happy  homes  whose  goodness,  love,  and  intelligence 
mock  the  brightest  tints  of  my  pencil.     And  then  my  char 
acters  !     What  can  my  brain  manufacture  to  compare  with 
the  father  who  has  the  spirit  of  five-and-twenty,  with  the  vir 
tue  of  a.  more  advanced  age,  who,  with  the  resolution  of  the 
old  Roman  and  the  fire  of  Bunker  Hill,  is  contentedly  car 
ing  for  his  flocks  and  herds,  giving  the  tenderness  of  his 
heart  to  his  little  Benjamin,  and  is  the  stay  and  staff  of  his 
children,  when  most  men  lean  on  them  for  support  ?     And 
what  to  that  excellent  aunt  and  sister,  who,  truly  loving  the 
praise  of  God  more  than  the  praise  of  men,  and  loving  and 
serving  others  more  than  herself,  is  still  blessing  all  around 
her  with  her  kindness  and  her  example,  and  diffusing  a  light, 
full  of  gentleness  and  promise,  like  the  serenest  setting  sun  ? 
I  say  nothing  of  the  vines  that,  separated  from  the  parent 
stalk,  and  flourishing  and  fruitful,  still  turn  their  faces  homo- 
ward,  as  plants  at  a  window  always  turn  toward  the  light ; 
or  of  that  sweet  image  of  her  sainted  mother's  virtue  and 
loveliness,  our  blessed  Sue  ;*    nor  of  the  bright-eyed  sis 
ters,  full  of  promise  and  hope;  nor  of  our  noisy,  good-heart 
ed,  honest  Charles ;    nor  even  yet  of  our  little  Benjamin. 

*  Dr.  Pomcroy's  daughter,  well  deserving  of  her  aunt's  praise,  and 
who  was,  in  after  years,  one  of  the  victims  of  the  terrible  railroad  catas 
trophe  at  Norwalk,  Conn.,  where  she  employed  her  last  strength  to  save 
the  child  who  was  in  her  charge,  and  died  with  the  disinterestedness  that 
had  been  characteristic  of  her  life. 


Life  and  Letters.  207 

But  they  all  shame  my  manufactures,  and  are  as  the  Magnus 
Apollo  to  the  waxen  image  of  a  country  show." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  C/ianning. 

44  New  York,  March  14,  1830. 

*  *  *  #  «  j  have  a  book  in  the  press,  and,  as  there  is  still 
a  great  deal  to  do  to  it,  I  am  constantly  employed.     I  am 
now  hardened  enough  to  talk  of  my  works  (oh  1   how  the 
word  and  all  its  relations  have  made  my  blood  tingle  1)  with 
perfect  nonchalance.     This  treats  of  the  present  times,  top 
ics  that  concern  every  body,  and  the  follies  of  the  day.    The 
scene  is  chiefly  in  New  York,  hazardous  ground  I  am  aware, 
but,  at  the  same  time,  it  seems  to  me  of  more  popular  inter 
est  than  a  tale  of  the  olden  time,  which  has  more  romantic 
facilities."  *  *  *  * 

To  the  same. 

44  New  York,  June  23, 1830. 

*  *  *  *  « i  am  delighted  with  your  suffrage  for  my  book. 
I  shall  never  get  the  calm  nerves  of  a  regular-bred  author, 
and  I  quake  and  tremble  on  every  fresh  appearance."  *  *  * 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mr.  Charles  Sedgwick. 

44  Newport,  Monday  evening,  Sept.  5,  1830. 

*  *  *  *  «  \vc  came  on  very  pleasantly,  szive  a  slight  alarm 
from  a  sloop  running  foul  of  us — neither  harming  nor  being 
harmed,  but  causing  that  general   agitation,  that  running 
up  and  down,  and  to  and  fro,  which  indicates  what  a  scene 
we  might  have  in  case  of  a  real  panic.     We  had  one  phi 
losopher  in  the  shape  of  an  old  woman,  who  made  the  most 
of  the  good  and  the  least  of  the  evil  of  life — who  was  quite 
willing  to  be  laughed  at  by  people  who,  she  said,  would 
never  see  her  again,  and  in  her  turn  to  laugh  at  the  follies 
of  the  laughers — a  species  of  simple  wisdom  that,  if  gener- 


2o8  Life  of, .Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

ally  adopted,  would  save  many  a  heartache,  for,  as  my  old 
woman  observed,  your  people  who  are  always  jealous  and 
suspecting  slights  are  the  *  tiresomest  company*  you  can  have. 
L— - —  received  me  most  kindly,  and  was  excessively  disap 
pointed  that  you  were  not  with  me.  Your  bed  was  made, 
and  the  disappointment  was  general.  For  myself,  I  felt 
pretty  flat  when  I  was  depressed  with  the  full  sense  of  the 
fact  that  I  was  here  without  you.  Dear  Charles,  when  some 
of  those  hours  of  depression  which,  in  spite  of  the  old  gen 
eral's  example,  will  come  over  you  again,  arrive,  think  of 
what  a  blessing  you  have  been,  and  are,  and  will  be  to  me 
— of  what  power  you  have  over  me,  and  I  am  sure  the  con 
sciousness  of  such  angelic  influence  will  exorcise  any  de 
mon." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  Channing. 

44  Lenox,  October  13,  1830. 

"Mv  DEAR  FRIEND, — I  can  not  let  my  brothers  go  to 
Boston  without  a  line  to  you,  if  it  is  merely  a  bait  to  get  a 
letter  in  return.  It  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  heard  from 
you,  and  you  know  that  I  set  great  store  by  your  letters.  I 
am  afraid  that  some  of  our  friends  may  condemn  our  per 
mitting  Harry  to  go  to  Boston,  but  it  is  impossible  for  those 
to  judge  who  can  not  understand  the  opposing  evils  and  va 
riety  of  embarrassments  that  attend  a  case  like  his.  It  is 
all-important  to  have  his  plans  and  wishes  meet  opposition, 
or  an  impassable  barrier  from  abroad  rather  than  from  his 
friends,  whose  influence,  while  it  is  assuaging,  may  be  sana 
tive.  I  am  particularly  anxious  that  your  brother  Walter, 
who  has  been  throughout  so  very  and  so  effectively  kind, 
and  whose  advice  has  been  so  useful  to  us,  should  not  dis 
approve  us.  I  hope  you  will  see  Harry.  He  is  very  sus 
ceptible  of  kindness  from  his  old  friends.  Will  this  long 
trial  ever  cease  ?  God  grant  us  grace  to  endure  it  patient- 


Life  and  Letters.  209 

ly.  It  has  been  attended  with  many  circumstances  to  ex 
cite  our  gratitude  and  strengthen  our  affection  for  our 
friends.  There  is  balm  for  every  wound,  and  it  is  our  own 
fault  if  we  lose  its  healing  influence.  *  *  *  * 

"  My  summer  has  glided  away  peacefully  and  uniformly, 
with  nothing  very  stirring  of  a  private  nature,  so  that  my 
heart  is  free  for  public  sympathy,  and  can  exult  in  a  French 
Revolution,  and  throb  at  the  name  of  Lafayette.  Your  peo 
ple  of  leisure  are  the  true  philanthropists."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Mrs.  Watson. 

*'  Lenox,  October  24, 1830. 

"  MY  DEAR  SISTER, — I  have  thought  of  you  since  our 
parting  as  so  bright  and  happy  as  scarcely  to  need  any  aid 
from  us  ;  but  I  ought  to  have  known  better,  for  happiness  is 
so  much  the  element  for  which  we  are  made — it  so  awakes 
the  drowsy  powers  of  our  nature  and  stimulates  our  capaci 
ties,  that  we  never,  I  think,  more  ardently  extend  our  affec 
tions  to  our  friends  than  when  we  are  happy.  It  is  the  rich 
man  and  not  the  beggar  who  keeps  his  festival  prepared  and 
his  doors  open.  But  I  do  not  sec  why  I  should  go  on  to 
aggravate  the  sin  I  meant  to  excuse. 

"  How  God  has  set  his  seal  on  love  in  all  its  modifica 
tions  1  It  is  the  life  and  health  of  the  soul.  It  can  not  be 
violated  without  misery,  and  its  restoration  after  loss  or  sus 
pension  is  the  return  of  the  exile  to  his  father's  house.  How 
strange  that  the  benevolence  of  the  Deity  should  ever  be 
questioned,  when  we  have  its  proofs  in  the  operation  of  ev 
ery  faculty  and  every  affection." 

Mis s  Stttgwick  to  K.  M.  Scdgwick* 

"New  York,  Dec.  14, 1830. 

******  My  sweet  Kate,  I  thank  you  for  your  letter.  It 
is  just  such  as  I  wish:  you  to  write.  I  have  a  notion  that  a 


2io  Life  of  Catharine  JW. 

letter  that  is  to  be  copied  can  never  be  quite  so  fresh  from 
the  heart,  never  quite  so  deeply  imbued  with  its  tenderness 
and  sweetness  as  that  which  is  marked  down  as  the  words 
bubble  out  from  the  fountain.  *  *  *  *  I  should  not  have 
seen  your  little  beau  ideal*  if  I  had  arrived  earlier,  as  he  did 
not  dine  here.  He  has  left  town.  Poor  boy,  he  pays  a 
heavy  penalty  for  his  enchanting  gifts.  After  being  kept  on 
the  stage  till  12  o'clock,  sustaining  the  most  arduous  parts, 
his  father  takes  him  to  Niblo's  to  a  supper  with  bans  vivants. 
Oh,  my  sweet,  bright-eyed  Charles,  how  much  more  enviable 
are  you  at  that  hour,  in  the  arms  of  Nature's  kindest  nurse, 
surrounded  by  the  spirits  of  innocence  and  love  1  *  *  *  * 

"  If  I  had  space  I  would  give  you  a  diverting  account  of 
my  visit  to  the  Savings'  Bank,  whence  I  have  fished  out 
M.'s  money ;  how,  when  the  man  asked  me  my  occupa 
tion,  I  laughed,  and  confessed  I  had  none,  and  felt  inferior 
to  the  meanest  of  the  one  hundred  Irish  about  me."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Satgwitk  to  A".  AT.  Sedgwick. 

"  New  York,  December,  1830. 

*  *  *  *  «  we  all,  including  Grace,  went  to  see  Charles 
Kean  in  Hamlet,  and  Clara  Fisher  in  Ophelia,  Monday 
night.  Kean  played  extremely  well  for  a  young  man  under 
twenty,  and  continually  recalled  to  me  his  unequaled  father. 
Clara  Fisher,  in  the  first  scenes,  appeared  like  a  little  plain, 
affected,  spoiled  drawing-room  girl ;  but  when  she  came  to 
the  mad  scene,  which  is  one  of  the  very  finest  scenes  in  the 
whole  drama  for  effect,  she  seemed  inspired.  She  was,  in 
deed,  the  Ophelia  of  Shakspeare, '  a  sweet  bell  jangled  out 
of  tune  ;'  her  little  snatches  of  songs,  the  exquisite  music, 
and  the  delicacy,  the  pathos,  the  transient  gleams  of  bright 
light,  and  the  deep  shades  that  were  shrouding  forever  her 
sweet  spirit,  all  was  manifest,  and  all  nature.  I  did  not 
think  myold  eyes  would  ever  have  wept  again  at  any  stage 
*  Master  Burke, 


Life  and  Letters,  211 

sorrows,  but  it  is  the  feeling  that  such  sorrows  are  in  life 
that  makes  us  weep.  Head  that  beautiful  play  aloud  to 
your  father,  my  dear  Kate,  as  you  read  Shakspeare  when  he 
was  gone.  It  is  the  most  exquisite  production  in  the  En 
glish  language.'*  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  K.  M.  Sedgwick. 

"  New  York,  January  14, 1831. 

"  I  have  been  twice,  dear  Kate,  to  see  your  beau  ideal, 
the  miraculous  boy  I  He  is  the  only  prodigy  I  ever  saw. 
He  is  endowed  with  faculties  that  would  make  him  pre-em 
inent  at  any  age,  that  are  prodigious  at  his.  *  *  *  *  He 
plays  tragedy  with  great  propriety,  but  he  is  too  young  for 
the  lover,  and  Romeo — a  beautiful  Cupid  wooing  an  over 
grown  Juliet  of  a  certain  age — was  rather  ridiculous.  He  is 
a  true  son  of  the  comic  muse,  and  either  in  Looney  M'Twol- 
ter,  a  wild  Irish  boy,  or  in  Sir  Abel  Handy,  a  simple,  kind- 
hearted,  henpecked,  wild  projector  of  impracticable  improve 
ments,  or  in  the  Protean  boy  in  the  March  of  Intellect  (a 
farce  written  for  him),  he  is  incomparable.  But  what  would 
delight  you  are  his  musical  attainments.  He  is  said  by 
competent  judges — you  know  I  am  an  ignoramus  on  the 
subject — to  play  a  violin  better  than  Segura.  This  would 
be  a  wonderful  acquisition,  if  he  had  no  other  ;  and  the  best 
of  it  is,  that  when  he  is  commended  for  it,  he  says,  with  great 
modesty,  that  any  body  might  play  as  well  who  would  prac 
tice  as  much.  To  me  it  is  very  interesting  to  see  the  in 
tense  interest  with  which  the  orchestra  listen  to  him,  and  to 
hear  their  leader  cry,  with  all  his  heart, '  Bravo  I1  Indeed, 
the  actors  seem  often  to  forget  every  thing  but  his  presence 
and  powers.  It  was  amusing  to  see  Mercutio  fondly  pat 
ting  Romeo  on  the  shoulder.  My  dear  child,  I  would  not 
turn  your  head  with  this  dramatic  genius,  but  I  think  we 
owe,  and  we  can  not  help  paying,  a  tribute  of  admiration  to 
such  beautiful  gifts  of  Heaven,  and  it  may  stimulate  your 


212  Life  of  Catharine  JW.  Sfdgivick. 

own  efforts  to  know  what  acquisitions  may  be  made  by  in 
tense  assiduity.  His  brief  life  must  have  been  a  continued 
study.  He  fences  well,  and  dances  beautifully.  But  there 
is  a  sad  reverse  to  this  picture  ;  and  when  I  see  him  come 
forward  in  his  own  character,  in  his  jacket  and  trowsers,  and 
square  collar  and  frill,  his  fair  shining  hair  brushed  smooth 
ly  down,  and  feel  that  his  youth  and  innocence  are  in  a 
tainted  atmosphere,  that  he  is  exposed  to  moral  death,  that 
his  fine  powers  are  almost  sure  to  be  blasted  by  such  un 
natural  excitement  and  overdoing,  that  the  rich  bud  must 
perish,*  I  could  weep—  to  tell  the  truth,  I  have  wept  over  him, 
and  I  have  breathed  a  prayer  of  gratitude  that  those  bright 
and  beloved  children  over  whom  my  heart  yearns  are  shel 

tered  and  nurtured  in  the  retreats  of  purity,  virtue,  and  love." 

*  *  #  * 


Miss  Sedgwick  to  1C.  M. 

"New  York,  January  25,  1831. 

*  *  *  *  «  There  are  few  such  persons  as  your  father,  my 
dear  child  —  few  whose  only  question  is  whether  others  want 
what  he  can  give.  His  humanities  are  like  the  rain  that 
falleth  on  the  just  and  the  unjust,  and,  like  the  rain  too,  I 
believe  they  sometimes  bring  forth  fruit  from  very  sterile 
ground.  If  half  the  world  were  like  him,  I  believe  the  other 
half  would  cast  their  slough,  and  be  so  too.  There  is  such 
a  principle  of  life  and  health  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  good 
and  lovely.  Hark,  the  supper-bell  I  If  your  father  could  see 
with  what  eagerness  I  pick  up  all  the  little  pearls  dropped 
in  the  corners  and  strung  along  the  margins  of  his  letters, 
he  would  not  doubt  the  value  I  set  on  the  cross-readings. 
Thank  your  dear  mother  for  her  very  kind  contribution  to 

*  It  is  pleasant  to  say  that  this  melancholy  prophecy  was  never  ful 
filled,  and  that  "  Master  Burke,"  passing  the  fiery  ordeal  of  precocity  and 
publicity  safe  in  simple  honesty  of  nature,  is  now  living  in  New  York, 
sincerely  esteemed  by  all  who  know  him,  both  as  a  man  and  a  musician. 


Life  and  Letters.  213 

my  pleasure.  Tell  your  Aunt  Susan  that  I  hear  many  of 
her  friends  deploring  her  departure  from  the  city.  It  is 
colder  to-night  than  ever,  yet  our  parlor  in  every  part  has 
been  74°  !  Dear  Kate,  remember  the  poor  in  this  season 
of  their  extremity,  and  forget  not  to  be  grateful,  and  to  ex- 
press  your  gratitude  to  that  Being  who  has  sheltered  you  in 
your  sweet  home."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Sfdsu*ick  to  JK.  M.  Sedgwick. 

"  Baltimore,  February  2,  1831. 

"  MY  DEAREST  KATE, — We  have  arrived  thus  far  without 
any  disaster.  *  *  *  *  We  left  New  York  at  7  Saturday 
morning  ;  came  as  far  as  Amboy  in  the  steam-boat ;  then  we 
mounted  into  wagon-boxes  set  on  sledges,  and  were  seated 
on  our  baggage  dos  d  dos^  like  an  Irish  jaunting-car,  eleven  in 
our  sleigh.  Among  the  rest  was  an  English  woman,  of  their 
fine  sturdy  breed,  arrived  from  a  ten-weeks'  voyage  the  day 
before,  with  a  little  baby  born  at  sea  !  Some  of  our  sleighs 
had  oversets,  but  we  arrived  safe  in  Philadelphia  at  n  that 
night.  *  *  *  *  We  traveled  yesterday  pretty  much  in  Jo 
nah's  fashion,  shut  up  in  a  stage-sleigh,  but  had  excellent  driv 
ers,  horses,  and  inns,  excepting  one  team,  who,  as  a  woman 
told  me,  were  '  pretty  considerable  wild  and  fractious,  but 
did  not  run  away  much.1  They  brought  us  safely  tto  Para- 
disc,  though  I  am  sure  the  way,  to  me,  was  through  Purga 
tory.  We  arrived  at  Lancaster,  one  of  the  largest  interior 
towns  in  the  United  States,  just  after  dark.  *  *  *  *  We 
crossed  the  Susquehanna  at  Lancaster.  I  thought,  if  you 
could  have  looked  in  a  magical  mirror  at  that  moment,  and 
seen  us,  you  would  have  been  amused.  Fancy  a  lumber 
ing  stage-sleigh  on  a  covered  bridge,  hail  and  rain  beating 
against  it,  the  passengers  -with  a  lantern  walking  a  mile  and 
a  quarter  (the  length  of  the  bridge).  When  we  were  mid 
way,  a  little  bird  fluttered  over  and  was  caught  by  one  of 


2i4  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

the  passengers.  Poor  little  thing  1  I  thought  she  did  not 
feel  much  more  out  of  place  than  I  did.  We  rode  25  miles 
to  York,  and  then  put  into  harbor  for  the  night.  York 
was  built  by  Germans,  and  has  a  very  substantial,  comfort 
able  aspect,  as,  indeed,  every  thing  has  in  Pennsylvania. 
The  house  in  which  the  old  Congress  sat  when  they  were 
compelled  by  Sir  William  Howe's  army  to  fly  from  Phila 
delphia  is  still  standing  in  the  middle  of  their  principal 
street.  Yesterday  we  rode  85  miles,  to-day  48,  without  any 
discomfort.  The  horses  '  run  a  little/  but  the  leaders  soon 
cleared  themselves  from  the  sleigh,  and  we  were  safe.  We 
came  the  longest,  which  is  called  the  upper  road.  Every 
where  we  find  civil  landlords,  good  taverns  (last  night  there 
were  warm  baths  in  the  establishment),  sober  drivers,  and 
every  comfort.  To-morrow  we  ride  seven  miles  on  the  rail 
road.  It  is  uncertain  whether  we  proceed  on  wheels  or  run 
ners  ;  either  way  will  be  bad  enough,  as  the  road  is  a  sea  of 
slush.  We  have  been  terribly  incommoded  with  turning  out 
in  the  deep  snow  for  the  transportation  wagons.  We  passed 
more  than  200  yesterday.  They  are  '  awful  concerns'  in  a 
deep  snow.  This  (Barnum's)  is  a  most  excellent  house. 
We  have  a  parlor,  and  bedrooms  (each  larger  than  your 
parlor)  on  each  side.  We  have  just  supped  on  canvas-back 

ducks,  and  your  uncle  has  sallied  forth  with  Mr.  B to 

see  the  city."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  S&tgivick  to  K.  J\f.  Serfgwick. 

"  Washington,  February  2, 1831. 

*  *  *  *  «  \ye  tnen  went  into  the  Supreme  Court.  Your 
father  will  tell  you  that  it  is  the  most  dignified  body  in  the 
United  States.  It  is  a  small  room,  and  looks  like  a  hand 
some  cell  in  a  monastery.  The  ceiling  is  like  a  scallop-shell : 
all  is  marble.  Chief  Justice  Marshall  was  presiding,  and 
reading  an  opinion.  His  voice  is  feeble.  His  face  has  a 


Lifts  and  Letters.  215 

fine  union  of  intellect  and  tranquillity,  the  seal  of  a  well- 
spent  life  upon  it.  Judge  M'Lean  has  a  very  fine  face,  an 
eye  that  moves  like  lightning.  He  looks  as  if  he  were  a 
leader  in  the  French  Chamber  of  Deputies.  Judge  Story 
came  down  to  speak  to  us,  and  told  me  that  he  had  prom 
ised  Judge  Marshall  to  come  with  him  to  see  me.  If  he  does 
so,  it  will  be  a  great  gratification  to  me  to  see  face  to  face  one 
of  the  most  venerable  and  honored  men  our  country  has  pro 
duced.  *  *  *  *  When  we  entered  the  House  there  was  a 
debate  going  on  relative  to  the  reduction  of  the  duty  on  salt. 
Some  Southern  members  spoke  with  great  vehemence,  but 
nobody  on  the  floor  paid  any  attention  to  them.  They  spoke 
of  their  oppression,  of  throwing  themselves  on  the  sovereign 
ty  of  their  States,  of  being  goaded  to  rebellion,  of  the  time 
being  near  when  '  vengeance  should  stalk  about  those  halls/ 
It  was  melancholy  to  see  such  feelings  aroused  among  our 
countrymen,  and  more  painful  to  see  them  quite  disregard- 
cd."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  K.  M.  Sedgwick. 

11  Washington,  February  5,  1831. 

"Monday  P.  M.  Dearest,  'most  tired  to  death.  Began  with 
visitors  the  moment  the  breakfast  was  carried  down.  At 
12,  took  a  carriage  and  went  to  the  House ;  they  were  en 
gaged  in  common  business,  and  we  hurried  home  before 
Cambrelcng's  reply  to  Burgess,  to  keep  an  engagement  with 
Mr.  Van  Buren,  who  had  offered  to  call  to  take  me  and  in 
troduce  me  to  the  President.  He  came  in  his  beautiful 
coach,  servants  in  livery,  elegant  horses,  and  two  most  beau 
tiful  dogs.  We  drove  to  the  palace,  entered  a  large,  cold 
saloon,  and  then  a  drawing-room,  in  which  is  a  fine  full- 
length  picture  of  General  Washington.  When  the  British 
came  here  in  the  last  war,  the  President  was  obliged  to  fly. 
His  wife,  Mrs.  Madison,  cut  the  picture  from  the  frame  and 


2 1 6  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

took  it  with  her — the  only  article  she  took  I  The  President 
was  not  in  the  drawing-room  when  we  entered.  He  came 
immediately,  apologized  for  not  having  been  there  to  re 
ceive  us,  as  he  had  been  that  moment  called  out,  was  very 
courteous,  and  quite  plain  and  pleasing.  He  has  a  wooden 
face,  but  honest  and  pretty  good.  *  *  *  *  It  is  still  very  cold 
here.  Mr.  Ridge,  the  Cherokee,  and  our  connection,  is  com 
ing  to  see  us  at  ten  this  morning.  We  are  waiting  break 
fast — what  do  you  think  for  ?  Till  Mrs.  Webster  has  done 

with  the  tea-pot  I     Poor  B is  any  thing  but  a  landlord — 

an  amateur  in  horses,  a  gentleman  of  elegant  leisure,  but  he 
has  some  excellent  subalterns  in  his  establishment,  who  will 
probably  own  it  in  a  year  or  two."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Afrs,  Watson, 

44  New  York,  March  9, 1831. 

"  If  I  had  a  home  (alas !  how  many  sweet  visions  are 
comprised  within  that  impossible  if)t  I  should  wish  F.  to 
pass  the  next  year  with  me.  If  I  have  any  faculty  (this  is 
the  common  mode  of  speech  of  the  self-confident),  it  is  that 
of  making  young  girls  happy,  and,  in  my  opinion,  half  of  all 
our  amiability,  not  to  say  virtue,  proceeds  from  our  happi 
ness — perhaps  far  more  than  half  of  that  of  the  young.  The 
stream  that  runs  clear  must  be  clear  at  the  fountain.  My 
dear  sister,  you  quite  over-estimated  my  writing  you  from 
Washington.  What  is  there  in  a  passing  tribute  from  the 
world  that  weighs  for  one  moment  against  that  love  which 
began  with  life,  and  which  is  as  indestructible  as  the  soul  ? 
If  you  were  not  my  sister,  my  dear  Frances,  your  friendship, 
the  friendship  of  a  heart  so  ardent  and  warm  as  yours,  would 
amount  to  more  than  all  the  world  has  ever  offered  to  me  ; 
this  is  simple  undemonstrable  truth.  I  deserve  no  praise 
for  what  is  a  part  of  the  constitution  of  the  mind — a  part  of 
that  chain  with  which  He,  who  is  love,  hath  bound  us  to 
gether." 


Life  and  Letters.  217 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  K.  M.  Scdgwick. 

44  Newport,  August  13,  1831. 

"  MY  DEAREST  KATE, — I  have  not  written  to  you  since  I 
arrived  here  1  Marvelous,  is  it  not  ?  Well,  you  will  not  dis 
believe  me  when  I  say  that  you  are  almost  always  present 
to  my  mind.  At  first  when  we  arrived  here,  M.  and  I  felt 
pretty  doleful.  We  have  an  apartment  that  has  no  view  but 
of  potatoes  and  ragged  seringas,  and  the  walls,  in  conse 
quence  of  the  prevailing  dampness  here,  smell  like  mouldy 
plaster — something  of  a  contrast  to  our  home  privileges. 
Then  every  thing  is  in  such  a  rude  and  liomely  style,  com 
pared  with  our  other  watering-places.  But,  on  more  experi 
ence,  we  find  pleasures  and  comforts  developing.  There  is 
no  ceremony,  no  fussing  about  dress.  The  family  are  all 
friendly,  the  walks  and  the  rides  are  beautiful  beyond  de 
scription,  and  the  bathing !  Oh,  dear  Kate,  I  am  sure  the 
breakers  never  swell  over  me  that  I  do  not  think  of  you. 
How  you  would  scream  with  delight  as  you  rose  from  the 
passing  wave !  *  *  *  *  We  are,  I  assure  you,  droll  figures 
when  we  are  rigged,  and  then  the  variety  of  groups  that  go 
in,  in  black,  white,  and  gray  t  portly  old  ladies,  and  slim  young 
girls,  now  and  then  a  beautiful  young  creature  whose  head 

looks  like  a  mermaid — M C ,  for  instance — when 

her  head  rises  from  the  water,  and  her  beautiful  hair  wreathes 
in  its  natural  curls  over  her  swan-like  neck.  Then  the 
groups  arc  varied  with  nurses  and  children,  and  strapping 
black  women  bathing  their  over-delicate  young  mistresses.1' 
»  *  *  « 

Afiss  Scdgwick  to  Afrs.  IVatson. 

"  Stockbridgc,  November  25,  1831. 

44  MY  DEAREST  SISTER, — It  is  just  one  week  to-day  since 
you  left  us.  Had  any  marked  change  occurred  in  the  ob- 

K 


2i8  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

ject  of  all  our  present  cares  and  watchings,  I  should  have 
apprized  you  of  it.  Jane  and  I  both  think  there  is  a  gradu 
al,  though  scarcely  perceptible  diminution  in  the  operation 
of  the  functions  of  nature.  For  the  last  three  days  Harry 
has  articulated  but  once,  and  attempted  it  but  twice.  How 
long  his  mind  will  remain  in  its  silent  prison  we  can  not  tell. 
That  he  is  spared  a  consciousness  of  the  intense  and  throb 
bing  interest  with  which  we  watch  him  is  a  mercy.  I  some 
times  realize  that  this  profound  repose  is  given  to  his  mind 
the  better  to  prepare  it  for  the  intense  joy  of  release,  for  the 
love,  the  rapture  of  heaven.  But  you  know,  my  dear  sister, 
how  bitter  thoughts  of  the  past  will  cloud  our  brightest 
hopes,  and  how  our  kindred  flesh  shrinks  as  we  advance  to 
the  last  struggles  of  mortality.  But  I  hope  that  our  trust  in 
God  will  enable  us  to  sustain  every  trial  with  meekness  and 
thankfulness,  and  that  we  shall  be  able  to  say,  as  our  suffer 
ing  brother  said,  as  our  earthly  happiness  is  all  vanishing 
away, '  I  love  God  better  than  I  did  in  health.'  '  Though 
he  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  him.'  " 

On  December  22,  1831,  Miss  Sedgwick  wrote  in  her  diary: 
"  Days  of  sorrow,  wintry  days,  have  followed  the  serene,  lux 
urious  days  of  summer.  My  life  is  now  passed  under  a 
deep,  desolate  shadow.  My  brother — he  whose  web  of  life 
from  my  cradle  has  been  interwoven  with  mine,  so  that  it 
seems  to  me  they  can  not  be  parted  without  shattering  the 
whole  texture — my  clear  Harry  is  sinking  away.  Day  after 
day  Jane  and  I  watch  over  him,  but  we  can  convey  no  feel 
ing  of  ours  to  his  mind  ;  we  can  get  no  intimation  from  that 
silent  prison-house.  We  look  on  the  features  that  have  al 
ways  been  the  medium  of  kindness  and  ardent  affection — 
they  are  the  same ;  intelligence,  composure,  and  deep  seri 
ousness  are  expressed  there — no  inanity,  no  approach  to  va 
cancy  nor  weakness.  The  mind  must  still  exist,  and  He 


Life  an tt  Letters.  219 

who  breathed  into  him  that  glowing,  ever-active,  ever-soar 
ing  spirit,  will  guard  and  keep  it,  though  it  has  pleased  Him 
to  close  up  all  the  avenues  by  which  we  approached  it." 

The  next  day  the  merciful  gates  of  release  were  opened. 
The  sister's  mourning  was  as  if  a  portion  of  her  life  were 
rent  away,  but  without  a  shadow  of  repining,  and  the  next 
year  she  was  able  to  write :  "  This  is  the  anniversary  of  my 
dear  brother's  death.  How  vividly  has  memory  presented 
to  me  that  day  of  anguish !  1  have  lived  it  over  again,  but 
softened  by  time,  by  a  more  grateful  sense  of  the  mercy  that 
closed  his  life  without  more  physical  suffering,  and,  I  think, 
with  a  more  distinct  anticipation  of  a  reunion.  I  seem 
sometimes  to  catch  the  glimmering  light  of  another  morn 
ing.  My  dear  Harry,  my  heart  has  been  faithful  to  your 
memory." 

When  time  had  softened  the  anguish  of  this  blow,  and 
passionate  grief  had  calmed  into  tender  recollection,  a  sc 
ries  of  happy  and  prosperous  years  opened  to  Miss  Seclg- 
wick.  She  drew  fresh  life  from  the  charming  groups  of 
nephews  and  nieces  growing  up  around  her,  to  whom  she 
was  a  radiant  centre  of  entertainment  and  affection.  She 
loved  them  with  a  triple  love,  made  up  of  her  strong  natu 
ral  interest  in  young  people,  her  devotion  to  these  as  the 
children  of  brothers  and  sisters  who  were  dearer  to  her  than 
life,  and  the  affection  called  forth  by  their  individual  charac 
ters;  and  they,  in  return,  made  her  their  confidante,  their  ad 
viser,  the  sharer  of  all  their  hopes,  pleasures,  and  anxieties 
— their  mutual  rallying-point  of  inspiration  and  excitement. 
No  plan  could  be  carried  out  without "  Aunt  Kitty's"  coun 
sel,  no  amusement  complete  without  her  participation.  Her 
coming  was  the  signal  of  happiness  and  festivity,  and  her 
departure  never  made  her  friends  "  twice  glad."  One  of 
her  oldest  nieces  writes  her  in  1832  : 

"  I  never   went  into  your  room   in   one   of  my  saddest 


220  J^ifti  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

moods  that  I  did  not  come  out  with  a  smile  that  you  had 
conjured  up,  and  most  mysteriously,  for  I  am  sure  I  could 
never  account  for  it;  and  when  I  have  thought  of  the  change 
in  my  feelings  in  going  to  and  returning  from  you,  I  have 
been  almost  disposed  to  believe  in  fairy  work.  But,  not  to 
derogate  from  you,  I  have  accounted  for  it  in  the  only  ra 
tional  way — the  supremacy  a  superior  mind  must  always 
have  over  an  inferior,  so  as  to  turn  darkness  into  light,  and 
perplexity  into  peace,  if  not  joy.  All  must  be  darkness  and 
perplexity  now,  for  you  are  not  here  to  turn  them  into  light 
and  joy,  and  can  you  wonder  that  I  miss  you  ?" 

This  expresses  the  common  feeling  of  her  family,  and,  to 
the  day  of  her  death,  her  presence  was  always  felt  by  each 
as  an  honor  as  well  as  a  comfort. 

Her  love  for  children  was  peculiarly  tender.  "  She  and 
every  child  who  came  near  her/1  says  her  niece,  "  were  al 
ways  bound  together  by  the  strongest  mutual  attraction,  and 
her  devotion  to  her  particular  pets  was  sometimes  a  source 
of  annoyance  to  older  friends.  Until  I  was  quite  a  big  girl, 
she  made  it  her  practice  always  to  lie  down  beside  me  when 
I  went  to  bed,  and  tell  me  a  story — no  matter  what  friends 
were  impatiently  waiting  for  her  to  reappear — and  she  con 
tinued  the  custom  with  my  children.  Her  stories  were  in 
vented  at  the  moment,  and  often  continued,  like  Schehera 
zade's,  for  a  number  of  nights,  and  in  that  case  she  was  oc 
casionally  reproved  for  mistakes  in  the  names  of  the  char 
acters,  or  in  regard  to  the  various  incidents.  At  seventy- 
five  I  have  seen  her  sit  on  the  floor  and  play  '  Hunt  the 
Slipper'  with  as  much  zest  as  any  of  the  children.  She  en 
couraged  the  most  affectionate  familiarity  of  manner.  A 
lovely  little  girl,  one  of  her  nieces,  once  exclaimed,  on 
hearing  some  one  say  how  much  she  respected  Miss  Sedg- 
wick, '  Rethpect  Aunt  Kitty  1  why,  I  couldn't  rethpect  Aunt 
Kitty  I1 " 


Life  and  Letters,  221 

Nothing  could  have  delighted  "  Aunt  Kitty"  more  than 
such  evidence  of  that  love  which  "  casteth  out  fear." 

Miss  Sedgwick  was  now  at  the  height  of  her  literary  pop 
ularity.  The  rapid  sale  of  her  books  was  proof  positive  of 
their  acceptance  with  the  public,  while  from  friends  and 
strangers  came  the  most  gratifying  testimony  not  only  to 
their  artistic  merit,  but  also  to  their  moral  power  and  real 
usefulness.  It  was  at  this  time  that  she  began  to  write  es 
pecially  for  the  young,  and  for  those  who  needed  instruction 
in  some  of  the  primary  studies  of  the  world's-great  school, 
and  between  1834  and  1837,  besides  the  "  Linwoods,"  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  and  elaborate  of  her  novels,  appeared 
"  Home,"  "  The  Poor  Rich  Man/'  the  "  Love  Token,"  and 
"  Live  and  Let  Live,11  names  fragrant  in  memory  for  the  ex 
quisite  dramatic  truth  and  beauty  which  carried  straight  to 
the  heart  their  lessons  of  human  brotherhood,  healthy  living, 
plain  practical  sense,  and  deep  religious  feeling.  The  fol 
lowing  extract  from  the  letter  of  a  country  physician,  a  per 
sonal  stranger  to  Miss  Sedgwick,  is  given,  although  of  a 
somewhat  later  date,  as  a  specimen  of  the  heartfelt  tribute 
constantly  paid  to  her  from  this  time  —  a  tribute  making 
thankful  both  the  giver  and  the  receiver. 


.  Cumurings  to  Jlftss  Sedgwiek. 

44  August,  1851. 

******  Were  I  not  in  a  most  difficult  position  to  leave 
(having  wound  myself  into  the  affections  of  parents  and 
children),  I  would  devote  the  remainder  of  my  life  to  the 
diffusion  of  your  books  among  my  fellow-mortals,  which  I 
think  would  be  doing  God  service,  and  one  of  the  best  mis 
sions  yet  undertaken,  and  would  do  more  to  hasten  forward 
the  millennium,  that  all  are  so  anxious  to  see,  than  all  the 
sectarian  preaching  in  the  land.  This  may  look  a  little  like 
enthusiasm  —  perhaps  it  is  —  but  to  me  it  is  Gospel  truth,  and 


222  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

I  have  now  put  more  than  fifty  volumes  of  the  books  in  circu 
lation  in  this  region,  and  have  got  our  Unitarian  minister  to 
say  he  will  give  a  copy  of '  Home'  to  every  couple  he  marries." 

Nor  were  letters  of  praise  and  gratitude  the  only  ones 
that  poured  in  upon  her  from  unknown  correspondents,  but 
letters  of  inquiry,  of  suggestion,  demands  of  sympathy,  re 
quests  for  advice  on  private  or  literary  concerns,  for  assist 
ance  from  purse  or  pen,  crowded  upon  her,  and  all  received 
kindly  attention.  Compliments  of  every  kind  were  offered  to 
her,  some  gratifying,  some  amusing.  The  Historical  Socie 
ty  of  Pennsylvania  elected  her  an  honorary  member,  and  the 
Nu  Pi  Kappa  Literary  Society  of  Kenyon  College,  Ohio, 
did  itself  the  honor  to  inscribe  her  name  upon  its  list. 

Meanwhile  she  kept  up  a  constant  and  active  correspond 
ence  not  only  with  her  brothers  and  sisters,  but  with  nieces 
and  nephews,  cousins  and  friends  innumerable,  both  in  this 
country  and  in  Europe.  She  exchanged  letters  with  Sis- 
moncli  for  more  than  twenty  years,  and  with  Miss  Martinenu 
for  several  years  after  her  visit  to  Stockbriclge,  of  which  an 
interesting  sketch  will  be  given  later  in  this  volume.  Her 
interest  in  the  concerns  of  her  friends  went  into  the  most 
minute  particulars,  and  she  was,  in  the  words  of  her  niece, 
"  The  confidante  and  adviser  of  every  body  who  came  near 
her.  I  have  often,"  she  says,  "  known  her  make  some  new 
acquaintances  at  a  watering-place,  who,  after  two  or  three 
days'  intercourse  with  her,  would  pour  out  to  her  the  whole 
secret  history  of  their  hearts." 

Her  long  and  affectionate  friendship  with  Mrs.  Jameson 
dates  from  this  period,  and  it  was  now  also  that  she  first 
saw  Mrs.  Fanny  Kemblc,  and  that  her  enthusiastic  admira 
tion  for  the  inimitable  actress  warmed  and  deepened  into  a 
love  for  the  noble  woman  which  proved  a  bond  of  life-long 
strength  and  beauty. 


Life  and  Letters.  223 

About  this  time,  also,  her  warmest  sympathies  were  aroused 
by  the  arrival  in  New  York  of  the  noble  band  of  Italian  pa 
triots  released  by  the  Austrian  government  from  the  dun 
geons  of  Spielberg  on  condition  of  eternal  exile  from  their 
native  land.  She  and  her  brothers  were  among  the  first  to 
welcome  Confalonieri,  Maroncelli,  Foresti,  and  their  fellow- 
sufferers,  and  to  give  them,  in  fervent  sympathy  and  admira 
tion,  cordial  hospitality  and  generous  assistance,  all  that  a 
foreign  country  could  offer  in  compensation  for  their  misfor 
tunes.  They  came  as  strangers,  but  strangers  they  were  not 
long,  for  the  noble  personal  qualities  of  most  of  these  mar 
tyrs  for  freedom  soon  changed  mere  respect  and  compas 
sion  into  devoted  friendship,  and  the  Sedgwick  family  in 
especial  entered  upon  intimate  relations  with  nearly  all 
of  them.*  No  one  can  remember  without  strong  interest 
either  the  personal  appearance  of  these  gentlemen — their 
stately  forms,  bent  and  sometimes  crippled  from  long  im 
prisonment  j  their  faces,  where  the  well-known  beauty  of 
their  race  was  marred  by  the  deep  lines  cut  by  grief,  anxie 
ty,  and  privation  ;  their  great  earnestness  of  manner,  which 
seemed  to  spring  from  latent  passion  held  in  strong  check, 

*  Miss  Sedgwick  herself  says,  speaking  of  the  Italian  exiles,  "Several 
of  them  became  intimate  in  our  family,  and  closely  bound  to  it  by  rever 
ence  and  affection  on  our  side;  they  were  men  of  superior  intelligence 
and  education — honorable  gentlemen,  true-hearted,  loving  men,  ingots 
of  gold  that  had  contracted  no  alloy  in  the  subjection  of  their  coun 
try,  Confalonieri,  Forcsti,  Albinola,  and  our  Castillia  became  our  dear 
friends.  Castillia  came  to  pass  a  few  months  at  my  sister  Jane's ;  those 
months  extended  to  years.  lie  was  as  a  brother  to  her — an  elected 
brother  to  us  all — and  most  tenderly  beloved  by  her  children.  He  pos 
sessed  all  the  virtues  that  one  can  name,  and  in  their  most  attractive 
forms.  He  was  a  Catholic — such  a  Catholic  as  Fonclon  was,  as  St. 
Paul  was,  •  clothed  in  the  whole  armor  of  God.'  Hut  Castillia  had 
more  of  St.  John  than  St.  Paul,  and  as  appropriately  might  that  apostle, 
who  is  to  us  the  impersonation  of  all  Gospel  love  and  gentleness,  have 
been  f/tni/M/  in  a  dungeon  as  Castillia.*1 


224  JLife  of  Catharine  Jlf.  Sedgwick. 

or  the  honorable  resolution  with  which  they  supported  them 
selves  by  teaching  their  own  language,  and  the  accomplish 
ments  which  had  been  the  ornaments  of  their  youth.     Miss 
Sedgwick  was  indefatigable  in  obtaining  pupils  for  them. 
Her  love  of  liberty  and  hatred  of  oppression  ;  her  reverence 
for  those  who  had  risked  and  lost  all  for.  freedom's  sake, 
and  her  regard  for  them  as  her  friends,  all  kindled  her  zeal, 
and  for  some  time  she  was  so  engrossed  by  these  interests 
that  her  older  acquaintances  protested  that  all  attempts  to 
gain  her  attention  were  bootless  unless  the  subject  were 
stamped  with  the  magic  seal  of  Italy  and  patriotism.     She 
was  now  in  the  midst  of  a  large  and  brilliant  circle,  con 
stantly  courted  and  flattered  by  the  world,  her  presence  ev 
ery  where  sought,  and  her  notice  eagerly  coveted,  and  she 
used  all  her  power  and  influence  to  benefit  the  exiles.     She 
had  the  full  sympathy  and  co-operation  of  her  family.     The 
younger  members  were  all  seized  with  an  enthusiastic  de 
sire   to  study  the  Italian   language  and  literature.     They 
spent  much  time  on  it  even  in  the  busy  winters  of  New 
York,  and  in  summer,  when  the  clan  was  usually  gathered 
in  Berkshire,  where  Stockbridge  and  Lenox  were  becoming 
more  and  more  attractive  each  year  to  visitors  in  the  warm 
season,  large  classes  were  easily  formed  to  provide  employ 
ment  for   the   fascinating  teachers,  and  delightful  months 
were  passed  by  instructors  and  pupils  among  those  beauti 
ful  hills  and  valleys — months  of  refreshing  out-of-door  free 
dom  and  enjoyment,  enhanced  by  intercourse  with  refined 
and  cultivated  people.     Miss  Sedgwick  heartily  enjoyed  this 
country  life,  and,  though  a  busy  woman,  always  found  leisure 
to  encourage  and  share  its  wholesome  and  inspiring  pleas 
ures.     Her  summer  home  was  now  at  Lenox,  in  her  brother 
Charles's  house,  to  which,  for  her  especial  accommodation, 
had  been  added  a  wing,  gradually  enlarged  till  it  contained 
four  or  five  rooms,  and  gave  her  space  and  opportunity  for 


JLife  and  Letters.  225 

independent  hospitality,  in  which  she  took  great  pleasure. 
Her  little  guest-chamber  was  seldom  empty  during  the  sum 
mer,  and  endless  were  the  entertainments,  pic-nics,  tea- 
drinkings,  evening  gatherings  over  which  she  presided,  re 
ceiving  the  distinguished  and  the  insignificant  with  equal 
grace  and  welcome.  Yet  hers  was  not  a  loose  and  undis- 
criminating  kindness.  No  one  had  a  keener  eye  for  pre 
tension  and  folly ;  she  was  too  quick-witted  not  to  be  very 
sensitive  to  the  attacks  of  that  ravager  of  society,  the  bore  ; 
and  she  was  so  alive  to  the  ludicrous  side  of  all  things,  that 
if  the  natural  sweetness  of  her  disposition  had  not  been  re- 
enforced  by  an  intelligent  and  highly-cultivated  humanity,  it 
might  not  have  restrained  her  wit  from  scorching  where  it 
touched,  instead  of  brightening  her  social  circle  as  it  did 

"  With  summer  lightnings  of  a  soul 

So  full  of  summer  warmth,  so  glad, 

So  healthy,  sound,  and  clear,  and  whole, 

Her  memory  scarce  makes  us  sad." 

Afiss  Sedgivick  to  JDr.  JPomcroy.* 

"  New  York,  April  29,  1832. 

"  MY  DEAR  DOCTOR, — I  am  seldom  bold  enough  to  doubt 
the  wisdom  of  your  decisions,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  your 
better  judgment  has  been  led  captive  by  your  humanity  to 
ward  a  portion  of  the  community  who,  from  having  been  the 
objects  of  desertion  and  despair,  have  suddenly  become  the 
chief  subjects  of  effort,  hope,  and  Christian  love.  I  am  not 
surprised  at  Louis's  zeal,  but  that  you  and  other  judicious, 
and  thinking,  and  patriotic  members  of  our  village  society 
should  have  banded  together  to  introduce  into  our  still  pas 
tures  and  by  our  sweet  water-courses,  amid  our  flocks  of  de 
fenseless  sheep  and  lambs,  these  state-prison  wolves,  is,  I 

*  Dr.  Pomcroy  was  interested  in  the  establishment  of  a  Home  for  Dis 
charged  Convicts,  which  it  was  at  this  time  proposed  to  place  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Stockbridge. 

K   2 


226  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

confess,  a  mystery  to  me.     I  entreat  yjju  to  reconsider  the 
matter — to  think  how  great  a  portion  of  our  peace  and  hap 
piness  results  from  the  safe  character  of  our  people,  from 
the  security  with  which  we  can  go  out  and  come  in,  and  lay 
our  heads  on  our  pillows  at  night.     If  the  effort  must  be 
made,  there  are  places  thinly  inhabited,  remote  from  vil 
lages,  that  would  be  more  suitable.     Has  a  colony  ever  been 
thought  of  in  some  part  of  our  fine  unoccupied  territory  ? 
In  the  name  of  Heaven,  let  some  other  portion  of  this  hab 
itable  globe  be  selected  than  our  village.     It  seems  to  me 
that  the  well-being  of  the  virtuous  and  moral  part  of  the 
community,  those  who  have   done   nothing  to  forfeit  their 
rights,  ought  to  be  considered.     Think  of  the  amount  of 
fear  that  will  be  inspired  by  these  people ;  and  that,  as  soon 
as  experience  (should  experience  teach  us  they  are  as  harm 
less  as  Louis*  thinks  them)  has  reconciled  us  to  the  pres 
ence  of  a  certain  portion,  another  untried,  unproved,  arrives. 
Think  of  the  defenselessness  of  our  community,  composed 
as  it  is  chiefly  of  women.     Think,  my  dear  brother,  of  what 
wilt  touch  you  as  nearly  as  any  thing — that  it  will  probably 
drive  Jane  to  a  removal  from  Stockbridge,  and  keep  all  who 
have  a  choice  of  residence  from  going  there.     Brother  The 
odore  was  quite  displeased  with  the  view  we  all  took  of  the 
matter — by  all  I  mean  Robert,  Elizabeth,  George,  and  my 
self;  but  he  has  received  a  remonstrating  letter  from  Susan, 
and  has  written  to  Louis  to  suspend  his  subscription.     What 
does  your  son  Theodore  think  of  the  matter?  and  what  may 
be  the  amount  of  the  probability  that  the  project  will  be  car 
ried  into  execution  ?     We  are  all  rejoiced  that  you  are  com 
ing  to  town.    My  best  love  to  all,  and,  with  the  most  earnest 
prayers  that  you  will  not  aid  or  abet  the  building  up  of  this 
charity,  I  am,  as  ever,  yours  truly,  C.  M.  SEDGWICK." 

*  Louis  Dwight,  a  cousin  of  Miss  Sedgwick,  long  connected  with  tho 
Prison  Discipline  Society  in  Massachusetts. 


Life  and  letters.  227 

Miss  Scdgwifk  to  Mr.  Robert  Sedgwick. 

"  Stockbridge,  September  II,  1832. 

"  MY  DEAREST  ROBERT, — I  received  your  letter  last  night 
by  T.  S.  P.,  who  arrived  here  at  8  o'clock,  only  thirteen  hours 
from  New  York.  This  is  an  annihilation  of  space  of  which 
our  forefathers  never  dreamed.  And  what  would  the  Indian 
of  three  centuries  ago  say,  who  probably  considered  it  the 
work  of  a  lifetime  to  find  his  way  through  the  various  tribes 
that  intervened  between  him  and  the  great  waters  ?  *  *  *  * 
L.  did  not  go  till  this  morning.  However,  I  do  not  think 
she  lost  yesterday,  as  it  was  one  of  the  most  golden  days 
ever  breathed  upon  this  earth,  and  I  devoted  almost  the 
whole  of  it  to  rambling  over  the  hills  and  by  the  river-side 
with  her  and  F. — myself  almost  as  much  a  child  as  either 
of  them.  L.  has  what  I  consider  one  of  the  most  fortunate 
gifts — an  exquisite  susceptibility  to  the  beauties  of  nature. 
She  is  the  most  delightful  creature  for  a  scramble." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Miss  K.  M.  Sedgwick. 

44  New  York,  December  9, 1832. 

*  *  *  *  <(  oh,  my  beloved  child,  how  lonesome  it  is  here 
without  you !  If  you  could  have  seen  how  I  felt  in  filling 
the  drawers,  and  the  various  nooks  and  crannies  that  you  had 
occupied,  you  would  have  pitied  me.  *  *  *  *  You  have 
grown  from  being  my  pet  to  be  my  companion  and  friend, 
and  from  rilling  that  little  snug  cabinet-corner  in  my  heart 
you  have  diffused  yourself  over  my  whole  existence,  and 
what  can  I  do  without  you  ?  But  I  am  not  without  you ; 
you  are  present  to  my  thoughts — always  in  my  memory  of 
the  past,  and  hopes  of  the  future.  *****  It  strikes  n. 
Good-night,  my  beloved  Kate.  Good-night  to  all  the  dear 
dwellers  in  Lenox.  *  *  *  * 

"  7  o* clock  A.M.  What  a  glorious  morning  I    It  is  strange, 


228  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

but  true,  that  I  never  missed  the  country — quasi-country  (I 
tremble  at  my  temerity  in  using  a  crumb  of  the  learned 
tongues  in  such  a  presence) — as  I  do  this  year.  I  long  to 
have  my  eye  rest  on  those  mountains.  I  had  rather  see  the 
muddy  roads,  even,  than  the  pavements ;  rather  stumble 
down  to  Debby's  in  the  dark  than  go  by  lamplight ;  and  the 
brick  walls  make  my  eyes  sore.  I  meant  to  have  written  a 
farewell  note  to  your  dear  mother  to  thank  her  for  hers,  and 
to  tell  her  how  sadly  I  was  disappointed  not  to  see  her  again. 
My  tenderest  love  to  her  and  to  father ;  tell  him  I  hated  to 
untie  the  cords  that  were  the  sign  to  me  of  his  last  labor  of 
love— last  of  what  a  host  I"  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Miss  JK.  M.  Scdgwifk. 

41  New  York,  January  31, 1833. 
"  MY  DEAREST  KATE, — You  will,  I  know,  be  disappointed 

at  receiving  no  intelligence  from  me  this  week.    Mr. ! 

the  very  mention  of  his  name  gives  the  explanation  of  all 
delays.  Our  packets  of  various  kinds,  after  awaiting  him 
for  weeks,  were  put  into  his  hands  last  Saturday — bundles, 
letters,  notes,  and  all ;  and  when  nothing  else,  could  detain 
him,  his  evil  genius  appeared  in  the  shape  of  gout  When 
he  will  go  time  only  can  decide.  I  dare  not  venture  to  re 
claim  the  things  to  go  by  the  colonel,  for  I  am  sure  he  can 

not  take  them  ;  and  when  Mr. does  go,  they  will  go 

safely,  and  no  man  on  earth  is  so  generous  in  this  way  as  he. 
He  is  like  the  horse  that  had  but  one  fault  under  heaven 
— he  never  would  go.  I  have  been  all  day  sitting  with  Mars- 
ton,  getting  a  smart  handkerchief  made  for  a  party,  and  no 
old  miser  could  have  groaned  more  than  I  have  over  the 
cost  of  satin,  blonde,  etc.,  outwardly  and  inwardly.  I  have 
thought  of  at  least  the  hundred  and  one  good  uses  that  I 
might  have  made  of  the  money.  Your  Aunt  Lizzy,  whose 
energy  worked  me  up  to  the  extravagance,  sits  by  and  says, 


Life  and  Letters.  229 

'  Nonsense  ;  you'd  think  nothing  of  it  if  it  were  for  Kate.1 
Ah  I  that  alters  the  case.  *  For  Kate !' — ah  I  there  I  feel  the 
old-fashioned  love  that  decked  *  in  silks  and  jewels  sheen.' 
Can  not  you  see  my  room,  the  table,  the  old  plaid  cloth,  the 
writing-desk,  the  medley  of  portfolios,  books,  and  manu 
scripts,  here  a  little  bit  of  satin,  there  a  bit  of  tulle,  and  poor 
Marston  deep  in  the  mysteries  of  piping  and  folds  ?  I  was 
sorry  you  were  not  here  for  the  fancy-ball  at  Berteau's.  *  *  * 
L.  was  very  prettily  dressed,  but  not  in  fancy.  Her  mother 
told  her  she  sent  her  as  an  American  lady,  a  character  Mrs. 
Trollope  would  think  the  most  fanciful  of  all."  *  *  *  * 

Mis s  Sedgwick  to  Miss  K.  M.  Scdgwick. 

"  New  York,  February  8,  1833. 

******  I  wish  you  would  read  Mercutio's  description 
of  the  fairy's  car  that  causes  dreams,  and  then  could  imag 
ine  the  effect  Kemble  gave  it  by  his  recitation.  It  seemed, 
as  he  delivered  it,  as  if  one  brilliant  conceit  after  another 
flashed  through  his  brain. 

"  We  had  a  person  to  pass  the  evening  a  few  nights  since 
who  is  a  kindred  spirit  of  Mr.  Tuckerman.*  He  is  a  me 
chanic,  a  jeweler — Mr.  Joseph  Curtis.  He  has  about  thirty 
boys,  who  all  live  with  him.  His  object  is  to  have  them 
well  taught  their  trade,  and  well  educated  in  other  respects, 
and  to  have  vigilant  moral  education  going  on.  They  have 
a  republican  self-government.  They  select  juries  from  their 
own  body,  and  always  submit  to  the  verdict  rendered.  Dur 
ing  the  cholera  he  determined  it  was  best  to  keep  up  the  es 
tablishment.  One  of  the  boys  had  a  dramatic  turn,  wrote 
dialogues,  then  a  little  play.  Some  of  them  were  fond  of 
music,  and  others  had  a  taste  for  drawing,  and  made  some 
scenery.  Among  them  they  got  up  private  theatricals,  and 

*  Joseph  Tuckerman,  the  well-known  philanthropist  and  missionary 
at  large  in  Boston. 


230  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

when  all  the  rest  of  the  city  were  flying,  or  in  consternation, 
they  were  well  and  gay,  did  their  day's  work,  and  had  their 
regular  evening-school,  and  their  occasional  theatre.  Tell 
your  Uncle  Major  this.  Some  of  the  boys  learn  French  and 
Spanish.  He  has  journeymen  whom  he  credits  $50  a  week. 
He  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  philanthropists  I  ever  met 
with.  Simple,  apparently  quite  free  from  vanity,  benignant, 
and  acute,  but  uneducated,  which  he  deeply  regrets.  I  have 
enough  to  fill  a  folio  about  him.  He  is  at  present  engaged 
in  a  plan  for  instituting  an  efficient  moral  police  for  the 
whole  city."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  Frank  C/ianning. 

"New  York,  February  12,  1833. 

******  We  have  had  a  droll  time  getting  up  a  society 
in  our  Church.  I  do  not  think  it  is  within  a  woman's  pre 
scribed  destiny  to  do  any  public  duty.  We  are,  some  of  us, 
very  ridiculous  persons  in  full  light.  After  claiming  rights 
and  surrendering  them,  caballing  and  diplomatizing — no,  I 
will  not ;  I  am  betraying  the  secrets  of  our  order,  and  we 
ought,  for  our  own  dignity,  to  be  as  secret  as  the  Freema 
sons. 

"We  are  just  now  in  the  full  flush  of  excitement  about 
Fanny  Ke.mble.  She  is  a  most  captivating  creature,  steeped 
to  the  very  lips  in  genius.  You  will  not  see  her  till  the  mid 
dle  of  April.  Do  not,  if  you  can  bear  unmixed  tragedy,  do 
not  fail  to  see  her  Belvidera.  I  have  never  seen  any  woman 
on  the  stage  to  be  compared  with  her,  nor  ever  an  actor  that 
delighted  me  so  much.  She  is  most  effective  in  a  true 
woman's  character,  fearful,  tender,  and  true.  On  the  stage 
she  is  beautiful,  far  more  than  beautiful ;  her  face  is  the 
mirror  of  her  soul.  I  have  been  to  see  her :  she  is  a  quiet 
gentlewoman  in  her  deportment."  *  *  *  * 


JLife  and  Letters.  231 

Jlfiss  Sedgwick  to  Afrs.  Watson. 

"  New  York,  Feb.  20,  1833. 

"  We  have  been  very  gay  of  late,  and  excited  by  the  en 
chantress  Fanny  Kemble,  I  owe  her  some  delightful  hours, 
when  I  have  felt  something  approaching  to  the  enraptured 
feeling  of  youth.  There  is  no  sensation  more  delicious  than 
that  you  experience  from  the  mastery  of  genius,  that  re 
stores  for  a  moment  the  flexibility  of  youth,  and  fires  and 
melts  you  at  will.  She  is  a  most  gifted  and  accomplished 
creature,  and  very  graceful  and  attractive  in  her  manners. 
Her  father  is  a  gentlemanly  man  and  fine  actor,  but  he  has 
not  her  moments  of  inspiration.  She  resembles  E.,  and  at 
first  you  would  not  think  her  handsome,  but  her  face  has  the 
whole  range  of  human  expression." 

Miss  Stdgwick  to  Rev.  Dr.  Channing. 

41  New  York,  May  20, 1833. 

****«!  have  been  particularly  desirous  to  ask  your 
advice  in  relation  to  the  publication  of  a  MS.  article  sent 
to  me  by  Sismondi  to  translate.  He  is  very  anxious  that  it 
should  be  disseminated  and  ra?s/here.  It  is  a  very  interest 
ing  communication  on  the  emancipation  of  slaves.  We  have 
been  at  a  loss  whether  it  were  best  to  make  a  pamphlet  of 
it,  or  to  attempt  to  get  it  into  the  North  American.  I  have 
hoped  that  you  might,  if  your  health  permitted,  write  a  re 
view  of  it,  as  it  is  a  subject  that  transcends  almost  every 
other  in  its  importance  to  the  interests  of  humanity — that 
great  best  cause  to  which  it  is  your  happiness  to  be  de 
voted." 

In  the  summer  of  1833  Miss  Sedgwick  made  a  journey  to 
the  Virginia  Springs  in  company  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robert 
Sedgwick  and  a  charming  young  friend. 


232  -Lift  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 


Miss  Sedgwick  to  Miss  K.  M.  Sedgwick. 

"  Richmond,  Va.,  June  18,  1833. 

"  MY  DEAREST  KATE,  —  I  have  just  finished  a  letter  to 
your  father,  and  am  beginning  a  journal  to  you,  to  be  writ 
ten  more  leisurely.  The  boat  we  were  in  yesterday  from 
Norfolk  was  delightful.  Imagine  how  different  from  the 
North  River  boats  —  not  more  than  fifty  passengers,  almost 
every  one  of  the  respectable  order  ;  a  little  cabin  on  deck 
for  the  ladies,  a  sort  of  lounge  or  boudoir,  furnished  with 
three  delightful  sofas,  low  chairs,  a  Boston  rocking-chair, 
and  mirrors  enough  for  a  party  of  Circassian  beauties,  which 
certainly  we  were  not,  bating  F.  C. 

"  Richmond  is  a  pleasing-looking  place  as  you  approach, 
and,  from  a  distance,  does  not  look  unlike  Albany.  The 
Capitol,  an  imposing  edifice,  is  on  the  summit  of  the  highest 
of  the  three  hills  on  which  the  city  is  built.  There  are  some 
very  handsome  houses,  but,  for  the  most  part,  the  town  has 
a  dilapidated  aspect.  Yesterday  morning  a  nephew  of  our 
friend  Mr.  Randolph—'  Randolph  of  Wilton'  (this  is  their 
feudal  manner  of  designating  the  proprietors  of  their  great 
domains)  —  called  to  see  us,  and  invited  us  to  take  a  drive 
six  miles  to  his  estate  of  Wilton.  His  parents  are  dead, 
and  this  young  man  —  a  fine  specimen  of  Virginian  charac 
ter,  his  face  expressive  of  frankness  and  generosity,  and  his 
person  of  the  fearless,  bold  habits  of  a  country  gentleman 
and  sportsman  —  has  succeeded  to  the  estate.  We  went  in 
a  carriage,  and  he  on  a  fine  blood-horse,  and  his  cousin 
Harrison,  on  the  best  horse  he  could  get,  attended  us.  The 
estate  comprises  2196  acres  of  land  on  the  James  River, 
and  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  slaves.  The  house  is  of 
wood,  and  more  than  a  hundred  years  old.  The  spacious 
wainscoted  rooms,  the  high  ceilings,  the  broad  staircase  and 
fine  hall,  give  you  a  very  magnificent  idea  of  the  grandeur 


Life  and  Letters.  233 

of  its  former  proprietors,  who  so  long  ago  had  an  establish 
ment  that  wants  nothing  but  a  fitting  up  to  vie  with  modern 
elegance.  But  such  ruin  ! — broken-down  fences,  a  falling 
piazza,  defaced  paint,  banisters  tied  up  with  ropes,  etc.  At 
the  gate  we  were  met  by  two  little  slave  urchins  whose  limbs 
were  scarcely  covered  with  rags.  The  walls  of  one  of  the 
apartments  was  covered  with  ancestral  paintings.  The  Wil 
ton  Randolphs  being  the  eldest  branch,  they  have  all  the 
pictures.  The  slaves  fancy  this  room  is  haunted,  and  it  is  a 
common  punishment  for  the  young  offenders  to  shut  them 
up  in  this  spectral  apartment.  There  are  some  fine  old 
trees  on  the  place,  two  superb  catalpas,  and  I  should  think 
many  beautiful  walks,  but  a  pouring  rain  prevented  our  see 
ing  any  thing  except  from  the  house.  The  family  burial- 
ground  is  on  the  estate.  There  are  a  few  pieces  of  modern 
furniture,  but  the  general  aspect  of  the  house  is  that  of  a 
forlorn  ruin.  The  gallant  young  proprietor  has,  however,  an 
ample  fortune,  and  is  going  to  put  it  in  complete  order,  and, 
as  it  is,  he  gives  dcjeftners  and  balls.  He  pressed  us  to  stay 
and  take  a  '  snack1  (a  lunch),  but  we  returned  after  wander 
ing  up  and  down  the  long  arcades,  and  taking  the  Virginia 
beverage,  a  bonafide  '  mint  julep/  *  *  *  * 

"  There  would  be  much,  my  dear  Kate,  to  interest  you 
here.  There  is  nothing,  of  course,  offensive  in  slavery  as 
we  see  it  in  this  hotel.  The  servants  arc  well  dressed,  civil, 
and  accomplished  in  their  way.  I  have,  as  yet,  seen  noth 
ing  on  the  table  different  from  ours  except  their  varieties 
of  corn-bread  and  cakes.  They  have  chickens,  but  they  are 
not  bigger  than  pigeons.  Their  raspberries  are  nearly  gone, 
and  apricots  are  ripe.  The  streets  are  not  paved  nor  light 
ed.  No  slaves  are  permitted  to  be  out  after  nine.  The 
houses  are  not  numbered,  nor  the  streets  known  by  their 
names ;  their  only  directions  are  this  side  or  that  side  the 
Bell  or  the  Eagle.  The  slaves  that  I  see  about  the  streets 


234  ^i#  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 


and  in  the  country  look  to  me  downcast  or  surly,  but  this 
may  be  fancy."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Miss  J£.  M.  Sedgwick. 

"Warm  Springs,  Bath  County,  Va.,  June  26,  1833. 

"  MY  DEAREST  KATE,  —  Here  we  arrived  this  morning  a 
little  past  nine.  It  is  the  first  in  the  line  of  springs  in  this 
mountainous  country  —  a  basin  scooped  out  of  the  mountain^, 
and  guarded  and  fenced  by  them  on  every  side.  In  coming 
from  Cloverdale  this  morning  —  but  stop  1  just  fancy  us  at 
Cloverdale,  after  a  most  fatiguing  ride  of  sixty  miles,  fully 
equal  to  a  hundred  in  our  country,  over  sands  that,  for  the 
most  part,  we  should  consider  impracticable  there  —  called 
before  three  on  a  rainy,  dark  morning,  to  resume  our  travel 
ing  over  roads  that  we  were  told  were  worse  than  any  thing 
we  had  seen  !  Twelve  passengers  were  our  complement, 
and  we  broke  our  thorough  brace  three  miles  on  our  way, 
just  as  a  fresh  shower  set  in  I  Half  a  dozen  negroes  were 
summoned  ;  we  all  alighted  except  Aunt  Lizzy,  who  never 
leaves  her  seat  ;  the  coach  was  pryed  up,  a  chain,  made  for 
the  wheel-shoe,  substituted,  and  we  came  on  safely.  The 
coachmen  and  horses  are  most  excellent  throughout  the 
country.  After  jolting  our  lives  out,  we  struck  a  very  fine 
turnpike  which  crosses  the  Warm  Spring  Mountain,  a  branch 
of  the  Alleghany.  We  ascended  for  four  miles,  winding  up 
a  road  resembling  the  ascent  of  the  CaUkill,  but  affording 
glimpses  of  far  more  beautiful  mountain  scenery.  When  we 
reached  the  summit,  or,  as  they  call  it  here,  the  4  Notch/  the 
grandest  scene  my  eyes  ever  lit  on,  save  Niagara,  was  un 
der  my  eye.  An  amphitheatre  of  deep,  deep  glens  below, 
mountain  rising  over  mountain,  one  stretching  beyond  an 
other,  some  in  conical  peaks,  others  in  soft,  wavy  lines,  and 
others  broken  into  fantastic  shapes,  the  sunbeams  here  and 
there  piercing  the  dark,  flying  clouds,  and  giving  to  the 


Life  and  Letters.  235 

whole  scene  the  effect  of  a  painter's  light ;  and  the  most 
beautiful  point  of  all,  a  shower  streaming  from  the  clouds 
over  one  of  the  peaks,  like  Niagara  etherealized.  If  we 
were  heathens  we  should  have  imagined  it  the  descent  of  a 
god,  but,  being  Christians,  dear  Kate,  it  appeared  to  us  one 
of  those  ineffable  forms  of  beauty  to  which  the  Divinity  had 
said,  *  Let  it  be,1  and  it  was.  We  forgot  all  our  fatigues, 
anxieties,  joltings,  and  hair-breadth  'scapes,  but  it  was  such 
a  brief  pleasure  that  I  am  going  up  the  mountain  again  this 
P.M.  to  enjoy  one  more  view  of  it.  *  *  *  * 

"  We  found  a  delightful  breakfast  awaiting  us,  and  fine 
venison  steaks.  Venison  is  the  staple  meat  of  this  part  of 
the  country,  and  is  not  like  the  dry,  half-fattened,  uncooked 
meat  that  our  Epicureans  feast  upon.  The  country  taverns 
of  Virginia  are  the  beau  ideal  of  inns,  shaded,  quiet,  and 
clean,  with  the  greatest  abundance  of  the  prime  luxuries  of 
life,  and,  above  all,  attendants  good  and  plentiful.  This  is 
one  good  of  this  horrid  blight  of  slavery,  which  seems  to  me 
far  worse  since  I  have  seen  it.  The  Virginians  resemble 
strikingly  our  plain,  country,  New  England  people.  They 
are  better-mannered,  more  frank  and  cheerful.  Our  land 
lady  here — Mrs.  Fry — looks  like  a  respectable  farmer's  wife 
of  Lee  j  her  cap  and  gown  must  have  been  cut  somewhere 
about  the  paper  factory.  Their  house — the  only  one  here 

— is  as  unpretending  as  Deacon 's,  but  abounding  in 

comforts.  They  have  a  fashion  here  which  is  peculiar  to 
the  Virginia  Springs.  We  are  lodged  in  cabins  about  forty 

yards  from  the  main  building.     F C and  I  occupy 

one  of  two  apartments.  I  am  now  sitting  by  a  door  that 
opens  upon  a  green  field  bordered  by  the  mountain.  This 
may  be  inconvenient  in  bad  weather,  but  the  quiet  retire 
ment  is  delicious,  and  so  is  the  separation  from  all  the  bustle 
and  slam-banging  of  a  hotel  like  Lebanon.  Below  the  main 
building  is  the  great  bath.  It  is  inclosed  by  a  sort  of  rotun- 


236  JLifc  of  Cat/iarhie  M.  Sedgwtik. 

da  as  much  as  thirty  feet  in  diameter,  and  this  filled  from 
four  to  six  feet  deep  with  the  warm  water,  at  a  natural  tem 
perature  of  96  degrees.  No  warm  bath  can  be  more  deli 
cious  ;  the  water  is  bubbling  about  you,  and,  instead  of  the 
beautiful  Princess  Zorahayda,  you  may  imagine  a  thousand 
water-spirits  dancing  and  sporting  about  you."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Sedgwtik  to  Dr.  jPomeroy. 

•'White  Sulphur  Springs,  July  3,  1833. 

"  Tell  the  girls  that  F.  and  I  are  in  great  hopes  that  one 
of  us  has  captivated  an  Orleans  planter  who  has  some  dozen 
sugar  and  cotton  plantations.  The  favorable  symptom  on 
my  side  is  that  he  confides  to  me  all  his  lamentations  over 
his '  dear  first  wife1  (her  miniature  is  actually  under  my  pil 
low  at  this  moment)  ;  but  then  he  is  at  a  very  suitable  age  for 
me,  which  a  widower  is  apt  to  think  the  most  unsuitable  in 
the  world,  so  I  fear  F.  will  get  the  plantations.  This  region 
is  an  inestimable  gift  to  the  Southern  people — such  a  cool, 
delicious,  invigorating  atmosphere.  It  makes  these  liver- 
colored  men  at  least  think  of  youth  and  roses.  Robert  has 
just  been  up  to  my  cabin  to  say  that  we  proceed  up  to  the 
Salt  Springs  to-morrow  morning.  He  has  ascertained  that 
'  the  Lexington  road  can  be  traveled  "  with  faith" — bad  as 
the  Purgatory  hills  arc — but  that  the  devil  can't  get  through 
the  Valley  of  the  Shenandoah  ;'  so  we  shall  probably  go 
from  Staunton  to  Fredericksburg,  City  of  Washington,  and 
home!  Blessings  on  the  word.  Love  to  all.  Yours  as 
ever,  C.  M.  SEDGWICK." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mr.  Robert  Serfgwick. 

"  Lenox,  September  15,  1833, 

*  *  *  *  "  How  happy  must  you  be  to  hear  nothing  but 
good  of  your  children  1  L.  is  a  charming  creature.  I  have 
hardly  ever  seen  a  child  of  such  promise.  This  is  not  flat- 


Lift:  and  Letters.  237 

tery  or  exaggeration.  Should  she  live,  I  trust  she  will  be  a 
creature  of  rare  intellectual  and  moral  superiority.  Her  af 
fections  are  strong  and  tender.  Truth  (which  seems  to  be 
the  foundation  of  moral  power  and  dignity)  is  not  only  with 
her  a  principle,  but  it  is  an  original  constituent  of  her  char 
acter  ;  and  with  this,  which  is  rare,  she  is  imaginative.  She 
has  that  spirit  of  poetry  that  gives  a  soul  to  nature  and  a 
charm  to  feeling.  Her  aunt  thinks  she  has  remarkable  ca 
pacities  for  acquisition.  She  studies  her  Latin  '  con  amore.' 
It  would  delight  you  to  see  how  she  is  beloved  here,  and  the 
intercourse  she  has  with  her  uncle,  who  mingles  with  the 
natural  affection  of  his  relation  to  her  a  sort  of  playful,  lov 
er-like  fondness,  inspired  by  her  individual  character.  £. 
is  an  excellent  boy,  and,  I  think,  deriving  great  advantages 
from  his  residence  here.  Whatever  the  country  may  be  to 
girls,  it  certainly  develops  the  character  of  boys  much  fast 
er  than  town  can.  Other  things  equal,  the  boy  who  is  part 
ly  educated  in  the  country  must  be  superior  to  the  town 
boy.  This  driving,  riding,  harnessing  (E.  can  partly  harness 
the  horse),  taking  care  of  the  cow,  feeding  the  pigs  and  the 
chickens,  are  some  of  the  best  lessons  in  education.  It 
seems  to  me  a  great  blessing  in  yours  and  Charles's  condi 
tion  that  this  arrangement  in  relation  to  your  children  can 
be  made  with  such  mutual  advantage.  It  is  delightful  to 
me,  who  stand  in  an  equal  relation  to  the  children,  to  see 
them  growing  up  more  like  brothers  and  sisters  than  cous 
ins.  God  grant  that  that  affection,  which  was  our  most  pre 
cious  inheritance — which  has  been  the  sweetest  blessing  of 
our  lives,  may  continue  long  after  we  have  ceased  to  watch 
over  it.  Elizabeth  is  an  admirable  woman,  and  every  day 
improving  in  her  qualifications  for  the  task  which  she  so  he 
roically  performs.  My  dear  Kate  is  this  day  thirteen  yeara 
old.  I  feel  deeply  thankful  for  the  blessing  she  is  and  has 
been  to  me.  Few  ever  arrive  at  the  threshold  of  woman- 


238  Life  of  Catharine  AT.  Sedgwick. 

hood  with  brighter  prospects.  *  *  *  *  We  have  had  the  re 
ligious  agitators  among  us  lately.  They  have  produced  some 
effect  on  the  factory  girls,  and  such  light  and  combustible 
materials.  One  of  the  fanatics,  being  met  by  Blum,  asked 
to  take  a  seat  in  his  wagon.  He  began  an  exhortation  by 
asking  him  if  he  were  a  Christian.  B.,  who  had  no  other 
idea  of  a  Christian  than  as  contradistinguished  from  a  Jew, 
took  fire.  He  said  it  was  very  '  extrordinaire  question  — 
certainement,  he  was  a  Christian.1  'Do  you  read  the  Bible 
every  day  ?'  '  I  read  it  as  often  as  is  profitable.1  And,  re 
peating  the  conversation  to  Ashburner,  he  said  a  man  might 
travel  from  one  end  of  France  to  the  other  without  such  an 
impertinence  as  being  asked  if  he  were  a  Christian.  We 
had  an  interesting  religious  address  from  Mark  H.  (who  has 
taken  orders)  a  few  evenings  since.  It  was  almost  free  from 
sectarianism,  and  dwelt  on  topics  that  were  familiar  and  af 
fecting  to  the  dwellers  within  the  circle  of  our  mountains. 
How  much  our  preachers  might  gain  by  touching  those 
strings  within  us  which  are  attuned  by  an  Almighty  hand  I" 


>.  Henry  IVare  to  Miss  Scdgwick* 

*4  Cambridge,  January  31,  1834. 

"  MY  DEAR  Miss  SEDGWICK,  —  It  was  some  time  last  year, 
or  last  month,  that  I  said  I  would  write  you  a  letter  ;  that  I 
do  it  now,  and  not  a  month  hence,  is  to  be  considered  by 
you  as  more  wonderful  than  that  I  did  not  do  it  three  weeks 
ago.  My  performance  always  marches  in  the  rear  of  my 
purpose. 

"  My  first  wish  was  to  secure  the  use  of  your  pen  in  the 
composition  of  a  volume  for  the  Sunday  Library,  with  a  view 
to  which  I  wrote  you  a  year  since  (nearly),  but  was  prevent 
ed  from  sending  the  letter  by  a  new  scheme  which  came 

*  This  letter  induced  Miss  Sedgwick  to  write  "  Home,"  the  first  in 
the  aeries  of  her  minor  works. 


Life  and  Letters.  239 

into  my  head,  and  in  which  I  should  wish  to  have  your  aid. 
That  scheme  I  had  at  length  given  over,  but  have  now,  with 
in  a  few  days,  returned  to  it  again  ;  and  when  I  have  laid 
it  before  you,  I  beg  you  will  give  me  your  advice  about  it, 
and  say  whether  you  will  give  your  aid  to  the  first  or  the 
last.  It  is  a  scheme  for  offering  to  the  public  an  exhibition 
of  the  practical  character  and  influences  of  Christianity,  il 
lustrating  its  principles,  its  modes  of  operation  on  the  heart 
and  character,  and  the  manner  in  which  men  may  avail 
themselves  of  its  power  and  peace.  This  may  be  done,  it 
seems  to  me,  in  a  series  of  narratives,  between  a  formal  tale 
and  a  common  tract,  so  as  to  present  to  view  an  image,  a 
portrait  of  the  Christian  religion  according  to  our  under 
standing  of  it,  and  at  once  enlighten  readers  by  a  familiar 
exposition  of  principles,  and  improve  them  by  a  display  of 
their  modes  of  operation.  In  a  word,  I  fancy  that  a  succes 
sion  of  Illustrations  of  Christianity  might  be  made  to  do  as 
much  for  religion  as  Illustrations  of  Political  Economy  for 
that  science  ;  or  more,  I  fancy  that  the  nature  and  efficacy 
otftiit/i,  the  doctrine  and  duty  of  regeneration,  the  whole  the 
ory  of  the  religious  life  in  education,  in  the  relations  of  lift •,  in 
temptation,  etc.,  etc.,  might  be  thus  developed  to  great  ad 
vantage,  and  more  efficiently  than  in  many  sermons.  What 
should  you  think  of  such  an  undertaking  ?  Will  you  take 
part  in  it  ?  Will  you  tell  me  your  mind  respecting  its  feas 
ibility,  etc.,  etc.  ?  My  idea  is  that  several  persons  might  be 
found  who  would  each  write  one  or  more  numbers,  and  that 
they  should  be  published  monthly.  Another  idea  has  been 
that  you  should  be  persuaded  to  undertake  the  whole — which 
I  hardly  dared  to  propose,  and  therefore  mention  last,  that 
it  may  not  come  to  you  abruptly,  and  that  it  may  hold  the 
place  at  the  top  of  the  climax,  which  always  belongs  to  the 
best  suggestion.  You  could  hardly  be  engaged,  I  think,  in 
a  more  useful  service,  or  one  of  deeper  interest.  Will  you 


2  4o  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

think  of  it  seriously,  and  relieve  my  impatience  to  learn  the 
result  as  soon  as  may  be?  For,  though  dilatory  myself 
while  a  subject  is  in  my  own  keeping,  I  am  apt  to  be  in  a 
hurry  when  it  is  out  of  my  hands.  Very  respectfully  and 
sincerely,  your  friend  and  servant,  H.  WARE,  JR." 

Journal. 

"April  29,  1835.  I  have  read  Fanny  Butler's  book,  most 
of  it  with  intense  pleasure.  It  is  like  herself,  and  she  is  a 
complex  being,  made  up  of  glorious  faculties,  delightful  ac 
complishments,  immeasurable  sensibility,  and  half  a  hun 
dred  little  faults.  Let  those  find  them  and  mark  them  who 
have  an  appetite  so  to  do.  I  have  not.  *  *  *  * 

"Saratoga  Springs,  July  i,  1835.  Here  am  I  again  at  this 
most  vapid  of  all  watering-places,  but  I  have  come,  not  for 
pleasure  so  called,  but  for  that  in  which  to  me  is  included 
all  pleasure,  and  happiness,  and  comfort,  and  joy,  and  what 
ever  has  a  pleasurable  name — my  dear  Charles's  health. 

*  #  #  *  A  more  leaden  batch  of  women  I  never  saw;  noth 
ing  of  the  brilliancy  of  fashion,  and  nothing  of  the  charm  of 
nature  and  individuality.     They  have  gone  just  far  enough 
in  civilization  to  obscure  nature,  and  not  far  enough  to  pol 
ish  it.     The  varnish  is  on,  the  last  touches  not  given.     Well, 
I  care  not  for  myself,  though  I  would  fain  leave  the  drawing- 
room  and  gossip  with  the  laundresses  under  our  windows. 

*  *  *  *  Mrs.  R.  told  a  good  story  to-night  of  a  down-Easter, 
who,  being  charmed  with  her  waltzing,  begged  her  to  repeat 
it,  and  said  he  "  would  make  it  up  to  her,"  taking  her  for  a 
stage  artist.     The  man  was  honest.  *  *  *  * 

"Stockb ridge,  August  9,  1835.  Miss  Martineau  and  her  at 
tendant  have  paid  their  last  visit  to  our  valley.  I  intended 
to  have  been  diligent  in  taking  notes  of  our  extraordinary 
guest,  but  the  time  was  so  filled  with  quickly- succeeding 
pleasures  that  it  passed  without  any  written  record.  She 


Life  and  Letters.  241 

was  here  eight  days.     She  has  just  returned  from  her  South 
ern  and  Western  tour.     She  had  been  honored,  praised,  and 
homaged,  not  to  say  worshiped,  by  the  great  as  well  as  the 
small.     No  woman  has  ever,  perhaps,  received  so  rich  a 
recompense  of  reward,  and  why  ?     I  think,  because  her  spir 
it  and  influence  have  been  in  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  the 
age — because  she  has  gone  with  the  current.     She  has  de 
voted  God's  good  gifts  to  the  use  of  his  creatures.     Other 
women  have  shown  as  powerful  a  genius  as  hers,  Mrs.  Bar- 
bauld,  I  think,  superior ;  Miss  Edgeworth,  more  various  tal  • 
ents,  and  a  fuller  demonstration ;  Mrs.  Somerville,  higher 
attainments  in  science  ;  Mrs.  Hemans,  a  more  exquisite  gift 
in  the  loftiest  department  of  imagination ;  and  Mrs.  Jame 
son,  a  more  general  cultivation,  a  richer  imagination,  and 
the  power  of  embodying  her  own  rich  thoughts  in  a  more 
poetic,  more  drawing-room,  if  not  as  vigorous  a  style.     But 
Miss  Martineau,  with  a  single  eye  to  general  good,  has,  with 
the  light  of  philosophy  and  religion  on  her  path,  devoted 
herself,  not  to  the  intellectual  amusement  or  advancement 
of  the  gifted  and  educated,  but  to  make  bread  more  plentiful 
in  the  husbandman's  dwelling,  and  to  still  the  cry  of  hunger 
forever  in  the  poor  man's  cottage,  and  with  the  bread  that 
perisheth  to  give  him  that  which  cometh  down  from  heaven. 
It  is  this  that  makes  us  all  cry  to  her,  Hail,  thou  favored 
among  women  I  *  #  *  *  Her  dress  is  simple,  unexpensive, 
and  appropriate.     Her  voice  is  too  low-toned,  but  agreeable, 
the  suitable  organ  of  a  refined  spirit.     Her  manners,  with 
out  any  elegance,  are  pleasing,  natural,  and  kind.     She  sel 
dom  speaks  unless  addressed,  but  in  reply  to  a  single  touch 
she  pours  out  a  rich  stream.     She  is  never  brilliant,  never 
says  a  thing  that  is  engraven  on,  or  cut  />/,  to  your  memory, 
but  she  talks  on  a  greater  variety  of  topics  than  any  one  I 
ever  heard — agreeably,  most  agreeably,  and  with  sense  and 
information.    She  is  womanly,  strictly,  with  sympathies  fresh 

L 


242  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

from  the  heart,  enthusiasms  not  always  manifestly  support 
ed  by  reason,  now  and  then  bordering  on  the  dogmatical, 
but  too  thorough  a  lover  of  human  rights  ever,  I  think,  to 
overstep  the  boundary,  and  she  is,  I  think,  not  conceited — 
no,  not  in  the  least,  but  quite  aware  of  her  own  superiority, 
and  perhaps  a  little  too  frank  on  this  point.  But  this  may 
be  from  a  deficiency  instead  of  excess  of  vanity.  She  is 
a  genuine  lover  of  nature,  a  person  quite  superior  to  the 
miserable  little  traveling  vanities  of  her  forerunners.  She 
never  remarks  on  our  conventional  manners,  and  usually 
adopts  them ;  for  instance,  she  eats  her  egg  out  of  a  glass, 
holds  her  fork  in  her  left  hand,  and  eats  a  hearty  dinner 
without  grumbling,  at  one  o'clock.  We  had  some  delightful 
drives  together,  when  Nature,  loo,  seemed  paying  her  its 
beautiful  tribute.  She  expressed  herself  as  nauseated  with 
slavery;  as  having  seen,  or  rather  been  let  into,  its  demoral 
izing  tendencies  by  the  communications  of  the  Southern  la 
dies,  who,  she  says,  are  bewildered  with  the  perplexities  of 
their  condition.  She  likes  the  Western  people.  But  I  per 
ceive  that,  like  all  travelers,  she  is  liable  to  false  judgments 
from  one-sided  views.  *  *  *  *  The  most  interesting  part  of 
her  character  is  the  sincerity  and  earnestness  of  her  religion, 
her  lively,  effective  faith,  her  knowledge  of  the  Scriptures, 
and  her  delight  in  them  as  the  records  of  her  best  friend. 
How  few  of  us  read  them  even  with  the  interest  with  which 
we  read  a  letter  on  common  topics  from  one  we  love.  I  was 
to  have  joined  Miss  M.  at  Boston,  and  accompanied  her  to 
the  White  Hills,  but  Mrs.  B.'s  visit  intervenes,  the  season  is 
getting  late,  she  can  not  put  off,  and  I  can  not  hasten,  and  so 
I  lose  this  delightful  opportunity  of  going  up  to  the  high 
places  to  worship  with  her.* 

"Lenox,  September  5,  1835.   A  little  circumstance  occurred 

*  Miss  Sedgwick's  views  of  Miss  Martiucau's  character  were  in  aomc 
respects  painfully  altered  by  subsequent  developments. 


Life  and  Letters.  243 

to-day,  so  characteristic  of  Charles,  and  so  illustrative  of  the 
happiness  of  the  disinterested  course,  that  *  meet  it  is  I  set 
it  down.1  As  we  were  sitting  at  dinner  expatiating  on  the 
intense  beauty  of  the  day,  Mr.  Parker  proposed  a  ride  to 
Stockbriclge,  Charles  eagerly  accepted  the  proposition,  and 
was  evidently  anticipating  as  much  pleasure  as  a  ride  in  per 
fect  weather  with  an  agreeable  companion  could  give  him. 
Presently  came  a  little  urchin  with  a  request  from  Mrs.  W. 
fur  the  horse  and  wagon.  Charles  made  some  inquiries  as 
to  the  when  and  where  she  wished  to  go,  but  could  obtain  no 
satisfaction.  I  remonstrated  against  his  lending  the  horse, 
and  said,  petulantly,  that  if  he  would  only  be  just  to  him 
self,  I  did  not  care  how  generous  he  was  to  other  people. 
He  went  off  to  see,  as  he  said,  how  the  matter  stood,  and 
end,  as  I  was  sure  he  would,  in  giving  up  the  horse.  In  re 
turning  from  our  twilight  walk  we  called  at  Mrs.  W.'s,  and 
such  pleasure  as  she  and  the  children  had  had,  such  grati 
tude  as  she  expressed  1  She  had  asked  one  of  the  little 
children  going  down  whom  she  loved.  She  replied  (more 
heedful  of  the  source  of  her  pleasure  than  most  persons), 
'  Mr.  Seclgwick.'  Charles  had  his  reward.  He  had  made 
five,  great  and  small,  rationally  happy,  and  the  best  of  it  was, 
he  was  the  happiest  of  all.  *  *  *  * 

"Monthly  evening  September  14,  1835.  We  have  attended 
the  trial  of  poor  young  Benjamin  Collins,  a  youth  who,  in  a 
moment  of  passion  and  intoxication,  killed  James  Bevin,  or, 
as  he  was  familiarly  called,  *  Uncle  Cobe  Beaver,1  who  seems 
to  have  been  a  sort  of  tame  outlaw,  one  of  those  domestic 
wild  beasts  that  hover  on  the  skirts  of  civilization.  The 
witnesses  are  the  very  lowest  of  our  population,  their  lan 
guage  a  dialect  peculiar  to  themselves :  for  instance,  I  had 
the  temptation  to  go,  for  intention;  I  exposed^  for  supposed; 
made  a  /////,  for  halt ;  sluiced  and  slung%  for  tipsy.  *  *  *  * 

"  Collins's  case  was  terminated  yesterday,  and  the  verdict 


244  JLife  of  Catharine  Af.  S&fgivicfc. 

of  manslaughter  rendered.  Poor  fellow  !  and  yet  it  was  the 
best  we  could  hope  for  him,  as  the  *  law  and  the  testimony' 
were  against  him — the  inflexible  law.  This  innocent  youth, 
who,  as  his  brothers  say,  never  had  murder  in  his  heart,  ex 
cited  much  interest — the  victim,  as  we  feared  he  would  be, 
of  an  accidental  meeting  with  a  gang  of  outlaws.  His  two 
brothers,  men  of  good  reputation  and  habits,  sat  near  him, 
and  must  have  been  a  most  merciful  support  to  him.  Cobe 
Beaver,  as  it  was  testified,  was  a  most  ferocious,  tiger-like 
wretch  in  his  aspect ;  *  an  untamed,  two-handed  man,'  said 
one  of  the  witnesses ;  '  a  hairy,  swarthy  savage,'  said  an 
other,  'that  I  should  have  thought  myself  justifiable  in  tak 
ing  an  axe  to  defend  myself  against.1  What  a  lesson  I  this 
man,  in  the  midst  of  his  drunken  comrades,  was  knocked  in 
the  head  like  a  bullock  by  an  inoffensive,  peaceable  strip 
ling  of  nineteen  I  Collins's  brothers  came  to  sec  me  this 
morning.  I  like  them — good-hearted  young  men.  A  curi 
ous  instance  of  the  remains  of  a  spark  of  heavenly  fire  amid 
the  ruins  of  human  nature  came  out  in  the  course  of  the 
examination.  It  appeared  that  when  Beaver  fell,  Tone  (An 
thony),  his  son,  stood  near  Case  Brazee.  Tone  was  so 
drunk  that,  though  he  was  not  more  than  two  rods  from  his 
father,  he  fell  in  getting  to  him.  When  he  got  to  the  body, 
he  fell  on  his  knees  beside  it,  screaming, '  Jesus  Christ!  my 
father  is  dead  1'  and  then,  pulling  over  the  body,  kissed  the 
face  I 

"The  attorney  general  mentioned  an  interesting  case  here, 
recently  tried.  A  man,  whose  moodiness  and  sulkiness  (and 
nothing  else)  had  for  some  time  indicated  insanity,  shot  his 
wife.  The  only  witness  on  the  trial  was  a  most  interesting 
little  girl,  a  child  of  twelve.  She  told  her  story  on  the  stand 
with  considerable  composure  after  being  most  kindly  ques 
tioned.  When  she  came  to  that  part  where  she  said, '  I  was 
sitting  by  my  mother ;  my  father  came  in  with  a  pistol  in  his 


JLife  and  Letters.  245 

hand,  pointed  it  at  my  mother,  and  fired  it/  she  stopped. 
*  And  what  then  ?'  asked  the  examiner.  She  hesitated,  and, 
clasping  her  hands,  burst  into  tears,  and  replied,  'My  mother 
<//#/.'  " 


Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mr.  Charles 

"Boston,  October  21,  1835. 

"  I  believe,  dear  Charles,  I  was  waked  by  the  inspiration 
of  Boston,  for  I  was  wide  awake  with  the  first  ray  of  light, 
and  up  and  dressed  betimes,  and,  in  the  interval  before 
breakfast,  have  time  to  relate  to  you  our  divers  adventures, 
beginning,  however,  by  telling  you  that  we  arrived  most  com 
fortably  at  6  o'clock  last  evening  at  the  railroad  d£p6t  in 
Boston.  Blessings,  say  I,  on  the  inventors  of  railroads,  which 
shorten  distances,  lengthen  life,  and  save  wear  and  tear  of 
body  and  mind.  The  cars  here  are  as  large  as  a  good-sized 
parlor,  and  nice  stuffed  chairs,  each  holding  two  persons, 
give  them  a  most  comfortable  aspect.  Every  fresh  experi 
ence  confirms  my  belief  that  K.  and  G.'s  stage  arrangements 
are  the  worst  in  the  country.  With  no  extraordinary  reason 
for  delay,  the  coach  did  not  arrive  at  Stockbridge  till  after 
ii.  We  then  proceeded  toward  Becket,  stopping  and  lin 
gering  at  every  inn  on  the  way,  doing  errands,  etc.,  and 
finally  drove  up  to  Chaffee's  after  2.  In  turning  up  that 
sidling  approach  to  his  step  with  a  heavy  loaded  coach,  the 
driver  gave  one  of  the  professional  whirls  round,  and  we  had 
just  a  flash-of-lightning  gleam  of  our  fate  when  we  were 
whacked  over.  Thank  Heaven,  no  one  was  materially  in 
jured.  Mrs.  Minot  got  a  severe  bruise  on  her  forehead,  and 
one  eye  is  now  nearly  closed,  and  the  blood  so  settled 
around  it  as  dreadfully  to  disfigure  her,  but  there  is,  I  be 
lieve,  no  injury  to  the  eye.  Mr.  Davis  and  I,  and  I  believe 
the  rest  of  the-  company,  escaped  without  even  a  bruise,  and 
so  the  matter  will  pass,  as  the  woman  assured  me  at  the  inn 


246  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

it  was  no  uncommon  thing,  and  no  fault  of  the  driver's, 
which  the  driver  loudly  reiterated.  Whose  fault,  then,  is  it? 
Mrs.  Minot  suffered  a  good  deal  of  pain  during  the  day,  and 
excessive  anxiety,  in  consequence  of  the  jarring  of  her  nerves. 
We  left  B.  just  at  sundown  with  twelve  passengers,  a  fair 
lot  of  customary  baggage,  a  box  of  carpenter's  tools,  and  a 
box  containing  black  walnut  extending  the  whole  length  of 
the  coach  ;  the  consequence  was,  that  at  the  first  ascent  the 
horses  refused  to  draw.  We  were  unloaded,  and  it  was 
some  time  before  they  started  ;  and,  to  finish  the  whole, 
when  near  Springfield,  the  coach-wheel  was  run  off  a  bank, 
and,  in  consequence  of  its  being  top-heavy,  we  should  have 
inevitably  been  again  overturned  (as  the  driver  said)  if  he 
had  not  stopped  at  the  precise  instant,  turned  us  all  out 
again,  and  righted  his  coach.  All  this,  and  plenty  of  time 
during  our  evening's  drive,  gave  me  leisure  to  reflect  on  our 
highwaymen,  who,  with  sleeping  consciences,  rob  you  of  rest 
and  peace  of  mind  (who  would  not  rather  be  robbed  of  his 
purse  ?),  often  break  your  bones,  and  not  unfrequently  take 
your  life  ;  and,  in  addition  to  these  crimes,  inflict  hardship 
on  the  poor  defenseless  horses,  that,  as  there  is  no  human 
tribunal  to  take  cognizance  of  them,  will,  I  guess,  make  a 
pretty  heavy  part  of  future  settlement.  But  now  to  the 
agreeable.  I  was  pretty  tired  at  Springfield,  but,  going  sup- 
perless  to  bed,  I  felt  very  well  in  the  morning,  and  the  coach 
not  starting  till  6,  and  Mrs.  Minot  feeling  travdabtt,  we  did 
not  hesitate  to  come  on,  and  reached  Worcester  five  min 
utes  before  the  cars  started,  making  no  pause  for  dinner, 
which  was  greatly  in  my  favor,  as  I  seem  to  want  nothing 
but  to  be  compelled  to  live  without  eating." 

The  last  sentence  refers  to  a  severe  attack  of  dyspepsia 
with  which  Miss  Sedgwick  had  just  been  afflicted.  "  She 
had  always,11  says  her  niece,  "  a  vigorous  constitution  and 


Life  and  Letters.  247 

very  hardy  habits  ;  but,  owing  probably  to  her  early  igno 
rance  and  disregard  of  the  laws  of  health  as  we  now  under 
stand  them,  she  suffered  all  her  life  (till  past  fifty  at  least) 
from  very  severe  sick  headaches.  In  her  youth  she  was 
treated  for  them  in  the  '  heroic'  style  then  in  vogue.  Bleed 
ing,  blistering,  and  calomel  were  freely  used,  to  her  great 
detriment,  as  she  was  afterward  convinced." 

Her  hygienic  knowledge,  though  late  learned,  was  so  well 
seconded  by  these  "  hardy  habits" — the  result  of  her  early 
country  training — and  by  her  remarkable  elasticity  of  body 
as  well  as  spirit,  that  her  health,  in  the  latter  half  of  her  life, 
was  generally  good,  and  she  gave  the  impression  of  uncom 
mon  bodily  ease  and  activity. 

Journal. 

"Boston^  October  28,  1835.  '^ne  funeral  was  at  12,  attend 
ed  only  by  the  relatives  and  nearest  friends  of  the  family. 
This  is  as  it  should  be.  Dr.  Channing  made  the  prayer. 
His  filial  sentiment  to  the  Deity  always  impresses  me;  it  is 
not  merely  the  confidence  of  a  child  to  the  father,  but  the  ten 
derness  that  is  most  commonly  felt  to  the  mother  ;  he  is  like 
the  child  who  throws  himself  on  the  mother's  bosom,  sure 
there  is  repose  there,  and  love  enough  for  all  his  wants. 
His  voice  is  the  most  tranquillizing  sound  I  ever  heard.  I 
think,  if  my  passions  were  in  ever  such  a  storm,  it  would 
calm  me  as  if  it  were  the  very  organ  of  the  Spirit  of  Jesus. 
*  *  *  * 

"November  2,  1835.  Went  to  hear  Mr.  Taylor  at  the  Sea 
men's  Bethel,  and  there  was  something  like  what  the  minis 
trations  of  the  Christian  religion  should  be — the  poor,  the  ig 
norant,  the  neglected  taught  wisely  and  with  a  glowing  zeal. 
Such  men  should  be  the  messengers  of  Christ ;  they  are 
sent.  His  heart  is  full,  and  his  lips  touched  ;  he  does  not 
scourge  his  brains  by  midnight  lamps,  but  comes  panting 


248  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

with  good  news  from  his  Father's  house  to  the  wanderir.j 
and  wayfaring  children.  *  *  *  * 

"November  u,  1835.  Miss  P gratified  me  very  much 

with  the  testimony  of  an  intelligent,  orthodox  factory  girl 
about  *  Home/  She  said,  if  they  would  spend  their  Sun 
days  in  Lowell,  as  recommended  in  this  book,  much  good 
might  be  done.  This  is  better  than  the  opinion  of  half  the 
ministers  in  New  England.  She  said  a  gentleman  had  said 
to  her, 'I  must  go  home  and  read  the  Lin  woods.  It  takes 
me  half  an  hour  to  read  a  page.  I  should  as  soon  think  of 
galloping  through  Paradise.'  I  like  to  save  up  these  bon 
bons  when  they  are  so  very  sweet. 

"November  13,  1835.  Expect  my  blessed  brother  to-day, 
who,  I  fear,  will  scarcely  give  me  a  blessing  for  bringing  him 
in  these  November  winds.  How  the  heart  clings  to  its 
dearest  loves  !  how  common  surface  pleasures  fade  before 
such  a  happiness  as  seeing  Charles !  Do  not  blow,  ye 
winds  I  Shine  out,  fair  sun,  on  this  betit  being  that  walks 
beneath  thy  beams !  *  *  *  * 

"  Called  at  Commodore  Downes's,  a  man  with  a  face  sealed 
by  Heaven,  and  a  life  that  bears  out  the  seal.  *A  good  fa 
ther,  son,  husband,'  said  the  severe-looking  Captain  Percival 
to  me.  This  Captain  Percival  spoke  of  the  bewitching  inter 
est  of  a  sea  life,  which  he  has  pursued  for  forty-three  years. 
'A  man  feels  independent  aboard  his  good  ship,  when  he's 
only  to  snap  his  ringers,  and  three  hundred  men  stand  be 
fore  him,  ready  to  do  his  will.'  My  sympathy  was  with  the 
three  hundred  men  that  had  to  obey,  not  the  one  that  could 
command.  *  *  *  * 

"  Had  some  very  agreeable  conversation  with  Judge  Story, 
in  which  he  repeated  to  me  an  old  message  from  Chief  Jus 
tice  Marshall.  'Tell  her  I  have  read  with  great  pleasure  ev 
ery  thing  she  has  written,  and  wish  she  would  write  more  I* 
Had  some  talk  with  Judge  Story  about  death.  He  did  not 


Lift:  and  Letters.  249 

agree  with  me  that  Calvinists  died  with  more  animation  than 
Unitarians.  He  said  his  father  (a  physician)  said  young 
people  died  most  happily,  middle-aged  with  most  clinging 
to  life,  and  old  people  with  most  regret. 

"November  20,  1835.  Went  to  see  Mr.  Wells's  school  at 
South  Boston.  The  house  is  on  a  point  of  land  that  runs 
out  into  the  bay,  and  gives  an  extensive  view  of  it  and  the 
islands  that  stud  it.  Wells  looks  like  a  fine  old  Italian  pic 
ture,  and  has  a  voice  that  is  a  fit  musical  organ  for  an  har 
monious  soul.  From  his  childhood  he  has  loved  boys,  and 
for  many  years  devoted  himself  to  their  moral  advancement. 
He  has  now  the  care  of  ninety-eight  1  and  keeps  them  order 
ly  and  happy.  If  they  do  not  learn  quite  so  much  Latin, 
Greek,  etc.,  of  him  as  at  some  noted  schools,  they  learn  in 
finitely  more  of  what  is  of  more  important  and  universal  ap 
plication.  He  said  he  had  read  all  my  books  to  them,  *  all 
except  the  last,  and  in  that  were  some  bad  words,  some  pro 
fanity  I*  This  is  a  criticism  worth  remembering,  and  in  the 
next  edition  I  will  correct,  wherever  I  can,  without  sacrific 
ing  what  is  essentially  characteristic,  this  fault.  *  *  *  * 

"New  York,  December  17,  1835.  More  than  a  fortnight  has 
elapsed  since  I  came  to  this  city — a  fortnight  of  my  short 
remainder  of  life  passed  away  without  exertion  and  without 
fruit.  I  have  been  met  by  every  one  with  congratulations 
about  my  book,  which  has,  I  think,  proved  more  generally 
acceptable  than  any  thing  I  have  before  written.  My  author 
existence  has  always  seemed  something  accidental,  extra 
neous,  and  independent  of  my  inner  self.  My  books  have 
been  a  pleasant  occupation  and  excitement  in  my  life.  The 
notice,  and  friends,  or  acquaintance  they  have  procured  me, 
have  relieved  me  from  the  danger  of  ennui  and  blue  devils, 
that  are  most  apt  to  infest  a  single  person.  But  they  con 
stitute  no  portion  of  my  happiness — that  is,  of  such  as  I  de 
rive  from  the  dearest  relations  of  life.  When  I  feel  that  my 

L  2 


350  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Settgwick. 

writings  have  made  any  one  happier  or  better,  I  feel  an 
emotion  of  gratitude  to  Him  who  has  made  me  the  medium 
of  any  blessing  to  my  fellow-creatures.  And  I  do  feel  that 
I  am  but  the  instrument. 

"This  is  the  i7///  December^  1835,  a  day  that  will  long  be 
memorable  to  our  citizens,  a  day  of  the  most  sudden  and 
overwhelming  calamity.  Last  night,  a  little  before  10,  broth 
er  Theodore  came  in,  and  said  there  was  a  great  fire  near 
Robert's  office,  but,  as  the  wind  set  the  flames  away  from  it, 
neither  apprehended  any  danger.  When  we  went  to  bed  at 
half  past  n,  the  fire  appeared  to  us  going  down,  but  it  still 
raged  \  the  extreme  cold — mercury  at  zero — accelerated  the 
flames.  The  hose  froze,  the  firemen  were  impotent,  the 
flames  spread  through  the  packed  warehouses  of  the  wealth 
iest  portion  of  the  city.  It  was  a  scene  of  helplessness,  be 
wilderment,  and  dismay.  The  flames  were  only  arrested  by 
blowing  up  houses — they  are  not  yet  extinguished.  It  is  a 
scene  of  desolation,  from  the  ruins  of  the  noble  exchange  to 
the  water's  edge.  There  is  no  calculating  the  extent  of 
loss — the  direct  loss — the  loss  from  suspension  of  business, 
and  payments,  and  interruption  of  industry,  and  the  fail 
ure  of  moneyed  institutions.  All  the  fire-insurance  compa 
nies  being  bankrupt,  the  city  is  at  this  moment  uninsured. 
The  town  presents  a  curious  spectacle ;  churches  and  pri 
vate  houses  turned  into  receptacles  for  merchandise  ;  carts, 
coaches,  going  in  every  direction  filled  with  boxes,  cans,  and 
every  species  of  commodity  ;  the  sidewalks  filled,  guardians 
stationed  over  them,  companies  of  firemen,  and  companies 
of  militia  and  beggars,  their  shoulders  covered  with  piles  of 
half-burned  blankets,  bits  of  shawls,  and  pieces  of  calico. 
Some  fine  morals  may  rise  the  phoenixes  of  this  fire.  The 
poor  may  learn  that,  though  the  individual  rich  man  has  no 
humanities,  his  wealth — Heaven-directed — must  wander  to 
the  poor ;  and  this  striking  manifestation  of  the  instability 


and  Letter* \  251 

of  human  possessions  must,  in  all  our  eyes,  amazingly  de 
preciate  their  value.  The  millions  of  yesterday,  the  as/iesof 
to-day. 

"  '  Take  physic,  Pomp  : 
Expose  thyself  to  feel  what  wretches  feel, 
That  them  may'st  shake  the  supcrflux  to  them, 
And  show  the  heavens  more  just.' 

"'This/  said  a  man,  looking  on  the  falling  warehouses, 
1  is  a  leveling  system  with  a  vengeance !'  *  *  *  *  Two  mis 
erable  nights  since  the  fire ;  my  room  is  a  watch-tower 
whence  I  watch  the  brightening  glare  of  the  flames  from  the 
ruins  as  they  rise  and  fade  away  on  the  cold  sky.  The  city 
is  virtually  uninsured,  the  firemen  disabled,  the  hose  so 
spoiled  that  very  little  of  it  is  in  a  usable  state,  and  the  lights 
now  threatened  with  extinction  from  the  injury  to  the  gas- 
pipes.  No  wonder  that  hearts  beat  when  we  are  repeatedly 
wakened  by  alarm-bells,  and  cries  of  fire  from  tremulous 
voices. 

"Sunday,  2o//r,  Last  night  the  Philadelphia  firemen,  who 
had  generously  come  to  our  assistance,  kept  watch,  and  I, 
relieved  from  ditty^  slept  quietly  till  daylight.  Mr.  Ware  has 
preached  an  excellent  sermon  to-day  from  that  most  appo 
site  text, '  Who  hath  done  this  unto  this  great  city  ?'**** 
It  is  beyond  any  desolation  I  ever  witnessed,  and  in  the 
hazy,  murky  atmosphere  of  this  day,  where  you  do  not  see 
the  bounds,  but  only  fragments  of  walls  dimly  defined  in  the 
mist,  it  appears  a  world  in  ruins.  Here  and  there  are  still 
dense  masses  of  smoke  and  flames  issuing  from  cellars  where 
there  must  be  at  this  moment  piles  of  merchandise  consum 
ing.  And  is  this  mass  of  ruins  all  that  remains  of  the  exul 
tation,  projects,  and  hopes  of  the  past  week,  the  vulgar  pride 
of  the  mere  merchant,  the  natural  complacency  from  the 
rich  results  of  years  of  skill  and  toil,  the  plans  of  the  young 
husband  and  father,  the  hopes  of  the  lover  ?»**** 


252  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

Afiss  Sedgwick  to  Afr.  C/iarfes  Sedgwick* 

"New  York,  February  4,  1836. 

"With  characteristic  confidence  in  another's  ability  and 
success,  you  put  me  up  to  making  money  out  of  my  poor 
brains.     Depend  upon  it,  this  is  a  dream.     I  may  go  on  as 
I  have,  if  my  life  and  health  continue,  earning  a  few  hun 
dred  dollars  a  year,  and  precious  few  too  j  but,  while  such  a 
novel  as  Rienzi  can  be  sold  here  for  fifty  cents,  as  both  edi 
tions  are,  I  can  not  hope,  even  if  I  could  call  to  my  aid  the 
'cutest  stock-jobbers  of  Wall  Street,  to  continue,  by  any  play 
upon  the  gullible  species,  to  make  much  out  of  my  handi 
craft.     However,  I  am  as  eager  to  make  money  as  you  are 
— to  make  it  for  me.     Harper  promised,  as  soon   as  the 
French  question  was  settled,  to  make  me  an  offer ;  but,  I 
suppose,  our  President-king's  offer  to  his  brother  sovereign 
must  first  be  known  to  have  been  accepted.     I  trust  Harper 
will  choose  to  repurchase  the  copyrights  that  have  been  sold, 
and  then,  for  better  or  worse,  we  shall  have  it  in  our  own 
hands.     I  shall  have  a  successor  for  Home  out  in  the  spring. 
It  will  not  be  nearly  as  good  as  that,  and  it  is  far  from  be 
ing  as  strong  an  illustration  of  my  subject  (poverty  and  rich 
es)  as  I  hoped  to  have  made  it,  but  then  I  think  there  are 
good  notions,  suited  to  the  American  market,  in  it.     To-day 
I  have  begun   my   souvenir  ing   campaign.     I  hope  to  get 
something  from  the  English  edition  of  the  Linwoods.     That 
book  has,  I  believe  (but  am  not  certain),  been  translated 
into  French. 

"Friday  morning.  The  weather  continues  as  cold  as  ever 
— beautiful,  bright  winter  clays.  •  But  for  the  thought  of  the 
suffering  around  us,  of  which  we  are  ignorant,  I  should  en 
joy  them,  for  there  is  such  stimulus  in  the  air,  and  such  a 
consciousness  of  the  warmth  from  the  good  fire  that  seems 
to  fold  you  around  like  a  blanket.  I  asked  my  little  Sun- 


Life  and  Letters.  253 

day-scholars  the  other  day  to  tell  me  what  the  rich  had 
that  they  had  not  and  yet  desired.  One  of  them  replied, 
*  A  good  warm  fire  all  day !'  Their  luxuries  are  our  neces- 


To  the  same. 

"July  4,  1836. 

"  MY  DEAREST  CHARLES, — I  can  not  return  my  child  to 
her  parents  without  sending  my  blessing  for  the  delight  and 
comfort  she  has  been  to  me.  I  am  glad  she  is  to  be  re 
leased  from  the  unhappy  condition  of  human  existence  in 
midsummer — life  in  town ;  and  pray  take  notice,  all  concern 
ed,  that  I  have  not  detained  her  for  a  moment.  She  has 
made  all  her  own  arrangements  without  the  slightest  inter 
ference  on  my  part,  and  this,  considering  she  is  somewhat 
like  the  breath  of  my  nostrils,  I  wish  to  have  credit  for.  I 
do  not  feel  so  badly  at  being  left  as  I  thought  I  should.  I 
am  very  well,  and  have  plenty  to  do,  as  I  am  going  to  begin 
to-morrow  on  my  second  Home  :  Harper  prints  it.  I  sup 
pose  I  shall  just  about  get  through  with  it  when  the  time  for 
my  departure  comes.  If  all  goes  well,  I  do  not  see  why  I 
may  not  be  with  you  by  the  first  week  in  August.  A  month 
is  not  very  long.  This  is  a  most  odious  day  here.  All  our 
liberty  seems  made  into  gunpowder,  and  noise  to  be  the 
only  expression  of  rational  beings.'1 

To  the  same. 

••  New  York,  July  22, 1836. 

"  DEAREST  CHARLES, — I  thought  I  mentioned  in  my  last 
that  I  should  leave  here  the  first  of  August,  which  will  be  a 
week  from  Monday  next.  Now,  much  as  I  delight  in  hav 
ing  you  with  me,  I  would  not,  on  any  account,  have  you 
come  down  just  to  give  me  that  indulgence.  If  you  have 
any  pretext  of  business  ;  if  you  want  to  do  Robert  good,  and 


254  JLjfe  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

see  him  look  as  Christian  did  after  he  threw  off  his  burden, 
and  see  L.  tranquil  and  prospering  in  all  respects  ;  and  if 
you  want  to  get  some  family  stores,  or  if  you  have  any  rea 
son  besides  making  a  spoiled  child  of  me,  then  pray  do 
come.  *  *  *  * 

"  I  am  daily  sitting  at  Ingham's,  and  want  you  very  much 
to  see  the  picture  ;  and  I  want  you,  too,  to  come  to  some 
conclusion  with  Harper.  I  want  you  to  speak  or  write  to 
them  before  the  publication  of 'The  Poor  Rich  Man,1  to 
urge  upon  them  the  policy  of  letting  it  be  known  to  their 
correspondents  in  the  New  England  country  towns  what  sort 
of  a  thing  it  is,  intended  for  popular  consumption,  that  it  may 
at  once  be  for  sale  in  the  country  towns.  If  I  should  con 
tinue  the  series,  this  may  be  important.  Ask  Webster  if  he 
will  take  fifty,  or  less,  as  you  think  proper,  to  sell  on  com 
mission.'1 

Journal. 

"May  19,  1836.  Sir  James  Mackintosh  has  an  admirable 
argument  for  fictitious  writing  which  all  who  have  dabbled 
in  it  should  cherish :  '  Fictitious  narrative,  in  all  its  forms, 
epic,  poem,  tale,  tragedy,  romance,  novel,  is  one  of  the  great 
instruments  employed  in  the  moral  education  of  mankind, 
because  it  is  only  delightful  when  it  interests,  and  to  inter 
est  is  to  excite  sympathy  for  the  heroes  of  fiction — that  is,  in 
other  words,  to  teach  men  the  habit  of  feeling  for  each  other.1 

*  *  *  *  Sir  James  says,  after  reading  Coleridge's  *J?rienttf 

*  It  is  not  without  ideas  of  great  value,  but  it  is  impossible 
to  give  a  stronger  example  of  a  man  whose  talents  are  be 
neath  his  understanding,  and  who  trusts  to  his  ingenuity  to 
atone  for  his  ignorance.     Talents  are,  in  my  sense,  habitual 
powers  of  execution.'  *  *  *  * 

"May  27,  1836.  What  a  portion,  and  valuable  portion  of 
my  life  has  passed  without  scarcely  a  record  !  What  Sir 


Life  and  Letters.  255 

James  Macintosh  calls  the  incorruptible  honesty  of  dates  is 
a  witness  against  me. 

"y////<?  6.  The  Farm  near  Philadelphia. — Here  am  I  again, 
just  where  I  began  this  book.  I  have  since  reeled  off  four 
teen  knots  of  my  unproductive  life — alas  !  alas  !  Charles, 
Kate,  and  myself,  after  having  waited  two  days  upon  this 
northeaster  (which  has  now*  blown,  with  rain,  every  day  fif 
teen  days),  came  on  Saturday,  and  found  the  weather,  like 
all  other  bulls  taken  by  the  horns,  not  very  mischievous. 

"  I  have  just  begun  the  printing  of  the  *  Poor  Rich  Man,' 
etc.  May  it  go  forth  on  its  mission  with  God's  blessing  1 
My  next  task  is  to  write  the  memoir  of  Lucretia  Davidson, 
which  will  be  little  more  than  reforming  her  mother's  most 
affecting  record.  This  has  brought  me  acquainted  with  her 
mother,  and  her  sister,  a  flower  from  Paradise,  and  soon  to 
bloom  there. 

"Newport>Sept.  12, 1836.  After  a  railroad  ride,  and  a  slight 
accident,  which  scared  the  life  out  of  a  poor  woman  who  had 
selected  the  safest  car  because  the  preceding  night  she  had 
been  jostled  off  the  track,  and  her  unlucky  husband's  nose 
broken,  we  arrived  at  Troy,  where,  after  telling  her  woes,  she 
said,  *  I  was  in  the  spirit  of  prayer  all  the  way.  I  am  pious, 
and  my  husband,  and  my  daughter  (a  little  sprout),  and  my 
niece,  this  young  woman,  but  my  son  is  not,  and  for  him  I 
was  in  prayer.'  The  son  was  an  unlickcd  cub,  who  looked 
as  if  he  had  still  less  notion  of  piety  than  his  pious  mamma. 
Piety,  in  her  acceptation,  is  a  certain  password  which  Is  a 
sure  passport  to  heaven.  She  by  no  means  meant  she  was 
devout  and  beneficent.  *  *  *  * 

"Stockbridge,  Oct.  12,  1836.  I  heard  a  touching  anecdote 
last  evening  of  J.  F.  She  is  just  three  ;  her  mother  has  been 
dead  nine  months,  her  infant  sister  died  one  month  after. 
She  was  ill  (J.),  and  awoke  sobbing,  and  saying  to  Miss  W., 
'I  want  to  see  my  mother  and  Isabella.'  'They  are  In 


256  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwitk. 

heaven,  J.'  'What  are  they  doing  there,  Miss  Abby?' 
'  Singing  praises,  I  believe.1  '  Can't  we  sing  too  ?'  '  Yes,  J. ; 
what  shall  we  sing  ?'  * "  How  glorious  is  our  heavenly 
King  I" '  and  thereupon  the  little  creature,  in  the  darkness 
and  silence  of  the  night,  raised  her  voice,  and  fell  asleep 
singing  1  Did  not  her  accents  mingle  with  her  mother's? 
Was  not  her  mother's  spirit  hovftring  over  her  pillow  ?  Sure 
ly  where  there  is  a  tender  and  loving  child  there  is  heaven. 
*  *  *  * 

"October  17,  1836.  Came  to  Lenox  to"  enact  housewife  in 
my  sister's  absence,  and  I  find  I  can  do  little  else.  *  *  *  * 
Yesterday  I  illustrated  the  day  by  making  a  batch  of  pies 
among  other  domestic  offices,  and  then,  in  spite  of  the  Puri 
tanical  clouds  that  hung  over  us,  I  had  a  delightful  ride  on 
my  Lady  Blanche.  To-day  I  have  '  pottered  an  immensity,' 
read  some  of  Ford's  plays,  and  the  review  of  Henningen's 
War  in  Spain.  Sad,  sad  is  it  that  in  a  Christian  country,  so 
called,  at  this  era,  there  should  be  something  worse  than 
savage  barbarities,  the  cruelty  of  the  wild  man,  with  the  cool 
ness  and  premeditation  of  the  civilized  man.  *  *  *  * 

"JFrMay,  March  31,  1837,  xi  o'clock.  Just  put  the  last  word 
to  my  first  draught  of  Live  and  Let  Live.'  I  hope  it  will  do 
some  good.  I  do  not  expect  for  it  the  popularity  of  the 
'  Poor  Rich  Man.1  It  will  offend  some  and  shock  many,  but 
I  am  satisfied  that  it  is  in  the  main  right,  and  in  the  con 
sciousness  of  having  written  in  the  hope  of  doing  some  little 
good  to  the  high  and  the  humble,  I  commend  it  to  God's 
blessing. 

"May  23, 1837.  This  has  been  an  eventful  and  exciting 
'spring.  When  I  came  to  New  York  in  February,  I  found  here 
Foresti  and  Argenti,  two  of  the  Italian  prisoners  of  state,  who 
had  been  in  Spielberg — Foresti  eighteen  years,  Argenti  six, 
Tinelli  at  Milan  and  Gradisca  six.  Foresti  is  now  forty-five. 
He  is  a  native  of  Ferrara,  and  before  he  was  twenty-one  he 


Life  and  Letters.  257 

was  praetor  of  his  province.  He  is  a  man  of  a  perfectly  origi 
nal  character,  an  independent  thinker.  A  strong  love  of  jus 
tice  and  an  inflexibility  of  opinion  seem  to  me  to  distinguish 
him.  He  is  not  obstinate  nor  opinionated,  but,  having  once 
thought  out  for  himself,  examined,  and  weighed,  he  seems  as 
certain  of  the  result  as  if  he  had  come  to  it  by  mathematic 
al  rules.  He  is  modest,  and  the  tone  of  his  voice  indicates 
a  certain  melancholy  and  gentleness  that  reminds  you  at 
once  of  suffering  and  wounded  affection.  His  face,  too, 
speaks  of  Spielberg.  His  spirit  was  never  subdued  by  suf 
fering,  never  calmed  by  the  Christian  faith  which  always  has 
a  calm  for  the  submissive  sufferer.  Of  all  the  prisoners  at 
Spielberg,  he  was  one  of  the  three  who  did  not  there  become 
Christians.  He  has  a  strong  religious  sentiment,  and  a  love 
of  his  country  that  is  almost  religion.  It  is  like  the  inex 
tinguishable  fond  feeling  of  a  child  for  its  mother.  This 
man  interests  me  deeply.  In  some  points  he  strongly  re 
sembles  my  brother  Harry,  that  dear  brother  who  loved  me 
so  much  better  than  I  deserved.  There  are  moments  when 
the  impression  of  this  resemblance  is  so  strong  that  I  could 
close  my  eyes  and  fancy  my  brother's  spirit  was  with  me. 
Forest!,  too,  had  a  sister  Catcrina%  whose  name  he  never 
pronounces  without  emotion.  He  is  so  true,  so  unfaltering. 
Argent!  Is  good-hearted,  but  a  common  material,  and  very 
tiresome,  poor  fellow  1  Tinelli  is  a  gifted  man,  with  a  bril 
liant  intellect,  a  quick  perception,  and  the  figure  and  face  of 
a  handsome  brigand.  He  is  irritable  and  impetuous,  resist 
ing  a  destiny  that  no  resistance  can  even  modify.  His  pres 
ent  intention  is  to  go  to  Texas.  He  married  the  daughter 
of  General  Battaglta,  a  man  who  commanded  the  Italian 
troops  under  Napoleon.  She  is  now  ill,  and  living  with  her 
old  and  rich  father.  Every  obstacle  will,  as  Tinelli  expects, 
be  thrown  by  the  government  in  the  way  of  the  expatriation 
of  his  two  sons.  Cast! Ilia  is  my  interesting  correspondent, 


258  JLt/t:  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgiuick. 

and,  as  I  believe,  the  St.  John  among  these  apostles  of  lib 
erty.     Gonfalon ieri  is  the  Jtstingttisfad  man   among  them, 
the  man  who  sacrificed  most  to  the  cause,  who  endured  with 
most  dignity  and  gentleness,  and  who  now  shows  himself  a 
man  that  no  circumstances  can  subdue,  but  whose  spirit,  like 
angelic  spirits,  makes  all  circumstances  subservient  to  his 
progress.     I  have  never  seen  any  man  who  has  so  realized 
to  me  my  beau  ideal,  the  dreams  of  my  youth,  and  the  sane 
portraits  of  my  maturity.     I  have  always  been  fond  of  a  sort 
of  character-drawing  reverie.     When  others  build  casiles  in 
the  air,  I  fill  them  with  tenants.      I  have  imagined,  but  never 
before  seen  a  man  who  seemed  to  me  to  have  the  tone  of 
high  breeding  which,  in  spite  of  our  democratic  theories  and 
principles,  we   associate  with  the   old  aristocracy,  blended 
with  that  humility,  respect,  and  tenderness  for  his  kind  which 
marks  the  Christian  philosopher  of  the  present  day.     He  is 
enlightened,  cultivated,  but  never  theoretical  or  pedantic. 
Under  the  external  of  courtesy  and  deference  in  which  most 
foreign  travelers  invest  themselves,  a  certain  consciousness 
of  superiority,  a  certain  contempt  of  us  as  parvenus,  is  be 
trayed,  but  not  so  with  the  count.     He  seems  perfectly  earn 
est  and  sincere,  and  inspires  as  unwavering  a  faith  as  if  his 
soul  dwelt  in  the  transparent  body  Dr.  F.  recommends.  *  *  * 
"May  23,  1837.   I  have  just  seen,  in  an   album  of  Miss 
Emily  Ward's,  two   lines   from   Racine,  written  by   Prince 
Louis  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  the  young  man  whom  1  have  re 
cently  seen,  and  who  is  unpretending,  sensible,  and  inde 
scribably  ngly.     The  words  arc  happily  selected  by  one  of 
the  Bonaparte  race,  whose  chief  has  so  strikingly  illustrated 
them  : 

44  •  I.c  premier  qui  fut  roi  fut  un  soldut  hcurcux  j 
Qui  sert  bicn  son  pays  n'a  pas  bcsoin  d'uieux  '  '* 


ami  Letters*  259 

Dr.  Tttcktrtnan  to  Jlfiss 


"  Boston,  October,  1836. 

"  I  will  not  attempt  to  conceal  from  you,  my  clear  Miss 
Sedgwick,  the  very  great  pleasure  with  which  I  read  the 
'Inscription'  in  your  little  volume,  'The  Rich  Poor  Man 
and  the  Poor  Rich  Man.'  This  morning  Dr.  Channing 
came  into  my  chamber,  where  I  have  been  since  the  close 
of  August  as  an  invalid.  I  put  the  volume  into  his  hand, 
directing  his  attention  to  my  name.  *  Well/  said  he,  *  it  is 
mi  honor  to  have  a  book  inscribed  to  one  by  such  a  woman/ 
And  an  honor  I  feel  it  to  be,  far  higher  than  would  be  any 
mere  gratification  of  ambition  or  of  vanity.  I  have  read 
this  little  book  with  increasing  interest  to  its  close.  God 
has  given  you,  my  dear  friend,  a  great  power  over  the  hu 
man  heart,  and  most  gratefully  do  I  rejoice  that  this  power 
is  consecrated  by  you  to  the  highest  and  noblest  ends.  You 
have  entered  upon  u  rich  and  boundless  field  —  as  bound 
less  as  the  wants  of  our  spiritual  nature,  and  as  rich  as  our 
capacities  of  never-  ending  moral  improvement;  and  the 
'  sheaf  you  have  gathered  and  sent  to  me  is  of  the  purest 
wheat,  which,  I  trust,  will  be  for  life-giving  aliment  to  many 
a  soul." 

Afiss  SeJgioltk  to  JRw.  Dr.  Dcwty. 

"  Lenox,  January  9,  1837. 

"  Nothing  can  be  more  simple  than  my  days,  which  are 
about  as  much  alike  one  to  the  other,  and  reeled  off  about 
as  fast  as  the  threads  of  a  skein  of  yarn.  I  rise  at  dawn, 
'by  a  fire  —  a  roaring  one,  not  imprisoned  in  a  stove,  but  look 
ing  kindly  on  me,  like  an  honest  old  friend.  I  take  a  fair 
two-mile  walk  every  day,  not  by  '  Shrewsbury  clock,1  but  by 
an  incorruptible  mile-stone,  with  my  Hebe  at  my  side.  Do 
you  know  what  it  is  to  face  a  winter's  storm  —  to  beat  against 


260  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

% 

the  gusts  that  sweep  over  these  hills — to  plow  through  the 
unpathecl  snows  ?  If  you  remember  aught  of  all  this,  you 
will  give  me  credit  for  my  resolution — more  than  I  deserve, 
perhaps,  for  I  have  my  reward  in  unexpected  renovation  of 
health,  and  in  an  enjoyment  that  I  had  forgotten  or  never 
have  known  of  the  sublimity  of  these  hills  in  their  winter 
desolateness,  and  in  the  poetry  of  the  skies  that  have  each 

day  as  new  an  aspect  as  if  they  were  a  new  creation." 

• 

Miss  Scdgwifk  to  Miss  K.  M.  Sedgurick. 

•*  New  York,  February  26,  1837. 

*  4  *  *  <«  your  uncle  went  yesterday  to  call  on  Frederigo 
Count  Confalonteri.  He  was  very  much  interested  by  him, 
and  says  he  was  completely  overcome  with  seeing  him.  He 
has  had  a  horrible  passage  of  three  months.  The  Houstfi- 
ans  sent  an  Austrian  captain  along  who  did  all  he  could  to 
embarrass  and  confound  them,  and,  but  for  the  American 
captain,  Confalonieri  says  they  never  should  have  reached 
this  shore.  Castillia  was  with  him,  having  come  on  at  the 
first  news  of  his  arrival.  We  are  to  have  a  supper-party  for 
the  exiles  this  week." 

M(ss  Sedgwick  to  Miss  A'.  M,  Sedgwuk. 

•«Nc\v  York,  March  8,  1837. 

»  *  *  '*  M  Mr.  Joseph  Curtis  came  to  sec  me  last  even 
ing,  and  told  me  that,  in  all  his  experience,  he  had  never 
witnessed  so  much  good  fruit  from  the  publication  of  any 
book  as  from  that  of  the  '  Poor  Rich  Man.'  This  pleased 
me.  I  knew  he  would  not  flatter,  and  that,  though  he  might 
overestimate  its  merit,  he  did  not  grossly  misjudge.  I  trust* 
my  vanity  is  not  fed  by  the  praise  of  this  little  thing.  I 
think  I  understand  the  secret  of  its  success.  It  is,  like  bread 
stuff,  or  like  the  satinets  and  negro-cloths,  to  be  a  little  more 
modest  In  my  comparison,  suited  to  the  market,  the  thing 


Life  and  Letters.  261 

wanted.  I  have  finished  and  sent  off  an  article  for  the 
Token.  I  hope  to  have  the  religious  article  done  to-mor 
row  ;  after  that  comes  the  Magnolia.  I  gave  up  that  spec 
ulating  affair ;  it  was  too  water-gruelly  even  for  a  souvenir, 
which  requires  as  thin  potations  as  a  hdpital  des  malades.  I 
received  the  other  day  a  letter  from  England  with  a '  For 
get-me-not'  of  last  year,  and  a  request  to  write  for  the  next 
number." 

Miss  Settgivic&  to  Miss  A".  M.  Sedgivick. 

"  New  York,  March  9, 1837. 

*  *  *  *  "  If  I  had  fulfilled  all  my  engagements  this  week, 
I  might  have  given  a  picture  of  the  variety  of  New  York 

society.     Monday  evening,  at  Mrs.  C 's ;  Tuesday,  Mrs. 

J B 's  ;  Wednesday,  Thatcher  Payne's  ;  Thursday, 

Mrs.  L 's  ;  this  evening,  Ferrero's  ;*  to-morrow  evening, 

Mrs.  Follen's,  to  meet  the  Grimk6s  and  an  abolition  party  1 

I  did  not  go  to  Mrs.  C 's  to  see  the  last  specimen  of  an 

age  gone  by — wit  and  sagacity  without  education — and  all 
the  pride  of  rank,  now  obsolete  and  forgotten  here,  neither 

did  I  go  to  Mrs.  L 's,  where  there  still  survives  a  certain 

elegance,  and  all  the  stiffness  of  a  socictb  choisic.  I  am  not 
strong  enough  to  go  out  every  evening,  and,  except  when  I 
have  some  such  motive  as  pleasing  the  children,  my  inclina 
tion  is  as  weak  as  my  strength. 

"Sunday  evening.  Immediately  after  church  I  walked  up 
to  Smith  Court  to  see  poor  Francis  Brown.  Do  you  remem 
ber  the  black-eyed  boy  I  used  to  call  Daniel  Webster  ?  The 
poor  fellow  had  his  arm  mangled  in  a  paper  factory  in  con 
sequence  of  the  drunkenness  of  the  engineer.  It  was  am 
putated  immediately.  He  says  he  neither  felt  the  crush  nor 
the  amputation.  His  poor  mother  said  'he  got  applause 
for  his  bravery,  but  it  was  more  than  I  could  look  on.  They 

*  Ferrero  was  an  Italian  dancing-master  giving  a  ball  for  his  pupils. 


262  JLife  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwicfc. 

wanted  to  take  him  to  the  hospital,  but  I  said  no;  a  mother 
has  many  a  soothe  that  no  one  else  has.1  I  just  got  home 
in  time  for  dinner.  Foresti  dined  with  us,  and  staid  tilly?z/<r, 
talking  to  Aunt  Lizzy,  and  telling  tales  of  the  Spielberg  he 
roes  that  made  me  '  cry  like  a  wretch.' M 

Miss  Scdgivick  to  Miss  K.  M.  Sedgwick. 

"  New  York,  March  17,  1837. 

*  *  *  *  «  Well,  dear,  we  have  seen  Confalonieri.  Your 
Aunt  Lizzy  let  Argenti  know  that  we  had  penetrated  his  in 
cognito,  and  the  poor  man  thought  that  courtesy  required 
his  coining  immediately  to  express  his  profound  sentiments 
to  the  *  famiglia  Sedgwick,'  or,  as  Argenti  says,  it  was  his 
duty,  and  '  duty  is  a  besom  du  cceur.'  Well,  he  came  ;  your 
aunt  was  alone  ;  had  just  returned  from  her  drive,  complete 
ly  en  dishabille,  the  room  all  upside  down  with  preparations 
for  the  party,  when  this  elegant  count,  six  feet  high,  rang. 
Katy  being  out,  Diana  (the  cook)  came  pattering  up.  *  We 
are  all  out,'  cried  Aunt  Lizzy ;  *  for  your  life  don't  let  any 
one  in.'  She  heard  an  altercation  at  the  door ;  thought  it 
was  Foresti,  who  is  her  cavaliere  servente,  and  did  not  care. 
But  presently  Diana  floated  back,  crying, '  I  can't  get  him 
out,  I  can't  get  him  out !'  Well,  he  staid  half  an  hour,  talk 
ing  French  and  bowing  with  his  hand  on  his  heart,  she 
speaking  English,  and  when  I  came  home  I  never  saw  her 
so  completely  flustered.  She  says  her  house  is  no  longer 
her  own  ;  that  she  never  expects  to  command  a  moment 
when  an  Italian  may  not  rush  upon  her ;  that  her  dreams 
are  haunted  by  Forestis,  Ferreros,  counts,  etc.  But  she  is 
devoted  to  them,  and  more  enthusiastic  than  even  the  ma 
niacs  of  the  valley.  The  next  evening  the  count  sent  his 
servant  to  know  if  he  might  be  permitted  to  pay  his  respects 
to  the  ladies.  I  was  going  out,  and  your  aunt  said  no  ;  but 
yesterday  morning  he  came,  and  a  very  pleasing,  high-bred 


JLift  and  Letters.  263 

nobleman  he  is.  He  talks  as  if  he  had  been  in  his  grave 
for  the  last  eighteen  years,  and  said  that  I  could  not  con 
ceive  the  feeling  with  which  the  events  of  that  period  strike 
on  a  man,  when  the  knowledge  of  them  comes  all  at  once 
after  his  disinterment.  His  contemporaries  are  gone  ;  he 
asks  for  one,  and  another,  and  another — 'mortl  mort  1  mortl' 
He  is  fifty-three — looks  sixty.  '  He  has  very  superior  heart,1 
says  Albinola ;  *  he  has  fortune,  and  he  offers  it  unfortunate 
ly  to  the  companions  of  his  misfortunes.'  " 

Mis s  Sc'</gwif&  to  Miss  A".  M.  Sedgwick. 

44  New  York,  March  25,  1837. 
****"!  received  two  singular  epistles  the  last  week : 

the  one  from  old  Mrs.  S I  will  inclose  to  you  by  Mr. 

Sergeant^ who  leaves  here  Tuesday  evening,  and  I  think  you 
will  have  some  merry  shouts  over  it.  '  Various  is  the  mind 
of  desultory  man/  Another  from  one  of  Fanny  Wright's 
men:  if  I  conclude  not  to  take  any  notice  of  it,  I  will  send 
that  too.  He  concludes  a  eulogium  on  infidelity  by  beg 
ging  me  to  put  *  more  morals  2nd  less  religion'  into  my 
books.  This  morning  I  had  a  letter  from  Cincinnati,  beg 
ging  two  autographs — one  for  a  namesake,  another  contain 
ing  an  application  similar  to  Miss  Stansbury's ;  a  letter  from 
Sparks,  announcing  the  publication  of  Lucretia ;  and  after 
— best,  though  certainly  least  of  all — the  most  precious  little 
note  from  Confalonieri.  *  *  *  *  Our  company  to-morrow  is 
the  count,  Albinola,  Foresti — bless  him ! — Panon,  Anderson, 
Bryant,  Mr.  Johnson,  Dr.  Follen,  Theodore,  and  perhaps 
Tinelli  and  Haggerty.  Mr.  Gallatin  and  Irving  declined, 
Irving  going  to  the  country." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Miss  K.  M.  Scdgwick. 

44  New  York,  April  16,  1837. 
*  *  *  *  "Have  I  told  you  how  I  liked  Ellen  Tree?     I 


264  Lift  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwitk* 

have  seen  her  only  once,  and  then  in  Ion.  She  is  a  very 
charming  actress,  very  perfect  in  all  the  delicate  details  and 
by-play.  Her  readings  are  beautiful ;  she  is  free  from  af 
fectation  of  every  sort ;  in  short,  she  is,  after  Fanny,  incom 
parably  the  first  actress  we  have  had,  but  so  far  after  her 
that  you  can  not  measure  the  distance.  Ion  is  poor  in  dra 
matic  effect,  but  I  can  easily  believe  that  in  her  range  of 
playing  she  is  even  better  than  Fanny  in  the  quiet  and  pass 
ive  parts.  We  called  on  her,  and  were  at  home  when  she 
returned  the  visit.  She  is  very  charming,  perfectly  frank 
and  natural,  and  courteous  to  every  one,  and  has  a  face 
beaming  with  expression.  If  it  were  not  for  her  immense 
handle  of  a  nose,  she  would  be  very  handsome.  We  had 
tickets  to  the  College  celebration,  and  went ;  and  such  a 
jam  I  have  seldom  witnessed.  You  may  fancy  whet  a  col 
lection  an  Alma  Mater  would  assemble  who  called  together 
the  progeny  of  fifty  years,  and  all  the  collaterals  of  that 

progeny.      '  Oh,1  whispered  Mrs.  C to  me,  'the  worst  of 

the  American  parties  is  that  we  must  have  the  people !' 
Foresti  told  me  last  evening  that  he  did  not  like  liberal  in 
stitutions,  as  he  saw  their  effect  here,  for  never,  in  any  of  the 
absolute  or  royal  kingdoms  of  Europe,  had  he  seen  such 
aristocrats  I  that  a  lady  had  said  to  him  yesterday  morning, 
she  would  that  she  were  an  empress,  that  she  might  say  *  I 
will,'  and  be  obeyed.  Now  isn't  it  a  pity  that  silly  women 
should  give  a  stranger  impressions  ?" 

Afiss  Setigwick  to  Miss  K.  M.  Sedgwick. 

"  New  York,  April  24, 1837. 

"  DEAREST  KATE, — All  my  spare  time  yesterday  was  spent 
in  concocting  a  report  for  a  remodeling  of  our  society,  and  I 
found  it  more  difficult  than  writing  a  '  novel  booky.'  It  is 
easier  to  get  a  heroine  into  a  dungeon,  and  not  much  more 
difficult  to  get  her  out,  than  to  decide  how  to  impersonate 


and  Letters.  265 

persons  and  personify  abstractions.  We  have  come  to  the 
sensible  resolve  to  have  a  school  to  teach  little  girls  to  sew, 
darn  their  stockings,  etc.,  instead  of  a  parcel  of  gossiping 
women  meeting  together  to  corrupt  the  '  less  favored  or 
ders'  by  supplying  them  with  ready-made  garments.  *  *  *  * 
You  can  have  little  idea,  who  are  surrounded  by  those  who 
have  been  accustomed  to  live  upon  the  fruits  of  their  labor, 
of  the  confusion  and  dismay  produced  here  by  the  general 
bursting  of  bubbles,  and  the  consequent  failure  of  the  means 
of  actual  support.*  The  people  are,  as  E.  says,  not  blue, 
but ///<//*.  The  panic  pervades  the  community.  The  dry- 
goods'  shops  are  almost  deserted,  save  Stewart's,  and  you 
will  see  the  line  of  counters,  with  clerks  on  one  side  walk 
ing  up  and  down  like  so  many  ghosts,  and  no  buyers  on  the 
other.  Even  Broadway,  to  use  the  slang  phrase,^?/?  />. 
This  is  the  season,  you  know,  of  spring  butterflies: — the  gay 
season  of  Broadway — but  now  it  is  almost  as  dingy  as  it  was 
in  the  cholera  season.  Nothing  is  talked  of  but  'who  has 
failed  to-day?'  and  the  buried  carcasses  of  to-day  arc  cover 
ed  by  the  fresh  ones  of  to-morrow." 

Miss  Sctlgwick  to  Miss  K,  M.  S&lgivicfc. 

"  New  York,  May  8,  1837. 

"  DKAREST  KATI-V — So  late,  and  my  weakly  weekly  not 
begun  !  A  dress-maker  converting  the  bag-sleeves  of  last 
year  into  the  puffs  of  this  ;  my  hat  on  to  sally  out  to  Stew 
art's  to  make  bargains  and  save  a  little  rag-money  by  get 
ting  more  necessaries  than  I  want — a  common  illusion  of 
economy  ;  your  mother,  Rie,  and  Molly  gone  to  the  Narrows 
with  Captain  Delano;  and  the  pleasant  expectation  of  seeing 
Ellen  Tree  to-night  in  Beatrice — wild  itos  ajfaires  / 

"  9///.   Ellen  Tree  is  a  charming  Beatrice,  but  not  the  rich, 
keen  Beatrice  of  Shakspearc — not  the  Beatrice   of  Fanny 
*  This  was  the  winter  of  the  great  financial  crash. 
M 


Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

Kemblc.  I  never  observed  till  last  night  how  truly,  how 
nicely  Shakspeare  has  marked  the  distinction  between  man 
and  woman  in  the  different  emotions  experienced  by  Bene 
dict  and  Beatrice  on  the  first  mutual  discovery  of  their  love. 
He  is  a  little  shamefaced — conquered,  but  ashamed  to  yield 
— and  yet  has  the  manly  feeling  of  generosity  to  the  weaker 
party.  She  at  once  is  touched  with  love,  and  you  see 
through  the  sparkling  the  tender  beam  of  a  woman's  eye. 
This  was  well  marked  by  Miss  Tree." 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Miss  A".  M.  Scdgivick. 

44  New  York,  May  19,  1837. 

******  I  have  been  reading  Mrs.  Hemans's  Life,  and 
am  disappointed  in  her.  She  seems  to  me  to  have  belonged 
to  another  age  of  the  world — to  have  been  a  Sappho  or  a 
Corinne — a  creature  of  those  times  when  the  elect  few  had 
no  sympathy  with  their  race,  when  they  were  born  for  music 
and  song,  forfas  sails  and /or  tie  ilcttxy  and  not  to  be  linked 
in  with  their  kind,  to  lean  on  the  strong  and  sustain  the  fee 
ble.  She  shows  how  inadequate  sentiment  is,  how  feeble 
the  theory  of  beauty  compared  with  that  sense  of  duty,  that 
perception  and  love  of  the  image  of  God,  which  gives  an  in 
terest  to  the  meanest  of  our  fellow-creatures,  and  a  dignity 
to  the  commonest  office  of  social  life.  In  our  practical, 
working-day  world  we  can  scarcely  conceive  such  an  exist 
ence  as  Mrs.  H.'s.  *  *  *  *  What  I  like  least  of  all  is  a  lit 
tleness  of  vanity  that  is  betrayed  in  blowing  off  with  a  gate 
of  contempt  the  incense  offered  to  her.  She  does  not,  like 
an  intoxicated  mortal,  snuff  up  the  cloud  of  incense,  nor,  like 
a  propitious  or  good-natured  divinity,  permit  it  quietly  to  as 
cend,  but  she  betrays  her  wish  for  something  more  and  bet 
ter  by  her  continual  consciousness  and  contempt.  Her 
American  admirers  come  off  with  most  mortifying  proofs  of 
ennuyant  their  idol.  She  evidently  regarded  them  as  I  should 


Life  and  Letters.  267 

so  many  Chatham  Street  admirers.  A  good  lesson  to  our 
travelers  not  to  go  lion-hunting.  Toward  the  last  her  char 
acter  became  more  earnest  and  natural.  *  *  *  *  I  am  go 
ing  off  with  JL.  and  E.  to  visit  our  -sewing-school  children. 
My  office  is  no  sinecure,  I  assure  you,  but  I  like  this  minis 
try  at  large." 

Afiss  Si'dgwick  to  Afr.  Charles  Sedgwick. 

"  New  York,  May  24, 1 83  7. 

******  Our  agitations  here  seem  to  be  pretty  much 
over  j  at  least  there  is  less  of  it  on  the  surface.*  Men  have 
become  accustomed  to  the  new  state  of  things,  and,  though 
you  see  many  an  anxious  and  many  a  despondent  counte 
nance,  yet  they  no  longer  look  amazed  and  on  the  brink  of 
madness.  How  we  are  to  get  out  of  this  hobble  I  know 
not ;  but  if  we  arc  true  to  ourselves,  I  am  sure  it  will  be,  as 
the  old  women  say,  a  sanctified  Providence.  The  exclusive 
love  of  riches  must  abate  when  their  uncertainty  is  so  prov 
en.  Men  must  learn  the  worth  of  those  acquisitions,  those 
fountains  of  respectability  and  happiness  that  are  independ 
ent  of  the  fluctuations  of  the  money-market — that  a  man 
need  not  look  at  the  price  of  stocks  to  graduate  his  enjoy 
ment  of  the  caresses  of  his  children,  the  pleasure  of  a  good 
new  book,  or  the  enjoyment  of  nature  on  one  of  these  exqui 
site  spring  days — that  he  need  not  speculate  to  relish  a  sim- 
plq  dinner — that  Champagne  and/rf/d  defoiegras  are  not  es 
sential  to  his  happiness,  nor  blonde  nor  Mechlin  to  his  wife, 
nor  Italian  and  music  to  his  daughters.  I  wrote  a  little  ar 
ticle  for  John  O'Sullivanf  called  '  Who  and  What  has  not 
Failed/  which  it  seemed  to  me  showed  a  great  balance  in 
favor  even  of  the  real  bankrupts.1' 

*  Alluding  to  tho  financial  crisia  of  1837. 
t  Editor  of  the  Democratic  Review. 


268  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 


Miss  St'</gwif&  to  Miss  A".  M.  Sedgwick. 

"  New  York,  May  30,  1837, 

*  *  *  *  «  Oh,  Kate,  I  witnessed  such  a  scene  to-day !  I 
heard  Mine.  G6rard*  was  ill,  and  went  there.  As  I  went  up 
the  steps,  two  gentlemen  opened  a  window  up  stairs,  and 
beckoned  to  a  hackman  turning  the  corner.  Ang61ique 
came  to  the  door,  and  said  her  mother  was  better  ;  she  had 
her  bonnet  on,  and  looked  bright  as  usual.  I  asked  her  to 
go  up  and  ask  her  mother  if  I  could  do  any  thing  for  her. 
She  came  back  and  beckoned  me  up.  When  I  entered, 
Mine.  G.  raised  herself  from  the  pillow  in  a  paroxysm  of 
grief,  and,  stretching  out  her  hand  to  me,  said,  *  Oh,  made 
moiselle,  j'ai  tant  souffert  I  j'ai  taut  souffcrt  I  bou  Dieu  !  bon 
Dieu  I  bon  Dieu !'  I  looked  round  for  an  explanation,  and 
poor  Gerard  was  screwing  up  a  little  coffin,  while  the  girls, 
evidently  excited  with  the  novelty  of  the  scene,  and  the  pros 
pect  of  a  drive,  though  to  a/////tf/vi/,  were  hovering  round 
him.  Not  death  could  suspend  madame's  observance  of 
politeness,  so  monsieur's  office  was  interrupted  for  an  intro 
duction  to  me.  It  seemed  madame  had  given  birth  yester 
day  to  a  still-born  infant.  She  said  that,  through  months  of 
anxiety  and  pain,  the  expectation  of  having  a  child  had  sus 
tained  her,  and  it  was  a  boy — a  boy,  so  long  desired  by  her 
husband,  and  Ang^liquc,  and  Loo.  A  friend  who  sat  by  said, 
'But  you  will  live  to  see  it  is  all  best.1  'Ah!  mais  je  siiis 
mire,  et  je  1'ai  attendu  avec  une  telle  joic  !'  '  Oui,  madame, 
mais  I'homme  propose  et  Dieu  dispose.'  These  obvious 
truths  fell  as  impotent  as  such  consolations  usually  do.  I 
could  not  help  crying  with  her,  there  was  something  so  sim 
ple  and  true  in  her  grief,  though  it  seemed  to  me  an  inesti 
mable  blessing  that  the  child  was  taken.  Angulique  is  her 
nurse.  They  are  obliged  to  move  to-morrow,  and  Ang61ique 
*  An  accomplished  Polish  lady  whose  husband  was  a  political  exile. 


Life  and  Letters.  269 

has  packed  every  thing.  *  Ah  !  my  dear  Miss  S.,'  said  Mme. 
G.,  *  there  is  nothing  like  necessity.'  Truly  there  is  not. 
Ang61ique  is  ten  or  eleven  years  old  1  There  was  a  German 
woman  who  looked  like  one  of  Scott's  old  women,  and  was 
all  the  time  haranguing  madame  on  (as  I  supposed)  the  in- 
utility  of  weeping,  and  finally  came  up  to  the  bedside,  the 
little  coffin  tucked  under  one  arm,  and  gesturing  with  the 
other  1" 


Mrs,  Jfn/te  Sedgwick  to  Miss  Sedgtvick. 

41  Stock  bridge,  June,  1837. 

"  MY  DEAREST  KATE,  —  Never  did  so  precious  a  morsel 
fall  from  your  pen  as  your  letter  I  I  would  not  give  it  for 
all  Redwood,  Clarence,  Hope  Leslie,  and  the  rest  of  those 
very  precious  books.  It  was  just  what  I  needed  —  what  I 
longed  for.  Of  all  the  abundant  good  gifts  you  have  re 
ceived  with  such  liberality  from  God,  there  is  not  one  for 
which  you  ought  to  be  so  grateful  as  the  power  of  your  sym 
pathy.  What  would  your  genius  do  without  it  for  those 
poor  exiles,  what  for  that  host  of  children  who  are  fed  with 
your  smiles,  for  all  that  crowd  of  poor  in  spirit  who  are  the 
chief  paupers  in  our  community  1  What  has  it  not  done  for 
me,  my  sister  !  I  look  to  you  with  a  certainty  that  every 
thrill  of  pain  or  pleasure  will  find  its  echo  in  your  heart,  and 
this  sentiment  often  stands  in  place  of  society  to  me." 

Mrs.  June  Stdgivick  to  Miss  Sedgwick. 

••  Stockbridgc,  March  4,  1837. 

#*#*««  YOU,  I  know,  will  not  be  wearied  with  any  de 
tails  of  our  hero.*  As  soon  as  he  heard  of  the  arrival  of 
Confalonieri,  he  came  in,  looking  like  a  real  seraph,  or  Ga 
briel,  or  any  other  nature  that  existed  before  the  fall.  *  Mad 
am,'  said  he,  *  my  friend  has  arrived  safe,  and  I  come  to  re- 
*  One  of  the  Italian  exiles  who  was  passing  the  winter  r\  3tockbridgc. 


270  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  SatgwicA. 

lieve  my  heart  to  you.'  You  may  be  sure  it  was  all  I  could 
do  to  keep  from  crying,  there  was  something  so  touching  in 
the  idea  that  this  poor  fellow  could  find  nobody  nearer  than 
myself  to  be  interested  in  an  event  which  filled  his  whole 
soul  with  the  deepest  emotion." 

JRev.  Dr.  C/ianning  to  C.  M.  Sedgwick. 

•'  August  19,  1837. 

"  MY  DEAR  Miss  SEDGWICK, — I  can  not,  without  violence 
to  my  feelings,  refrain  from  expressing  to  you  the  great  grati 
fication  with  which  I  have  read  your  '  Live  and  Let  Live.' 
Thousands  will  be  the  better  and  happier  for  it ;  thousands, 
as  they  read  it,  will  feel  their  deficiencies,  and  resolve  to  do 
better.  No  relation  is  so  little  understood  among  us  as 
that  of  head  of  family  and  domestic.  The  false  notions  of 
it  which  prevail  in  England,  even  more  false,  I  suspect,  than 
are  to  be  found  on  the  Continent,  exist  here,  in  defiance  of 
the  spirit  of  our  institutions  and  of  Christianity.  Thousands, 
brought  up  under  this  pernicious  system,  are  wholly  uncon 
scious  of  the  inhumanity  (I  use  this  word  in  a  large  sense) 
with  which  those  living  under  their  own  roofs  are  treated, 
and,  as  a  general  consequence,  the  domestics  carry  into  their 
service  no  generosity  or  affection.  Instead  of  feeling  the 
dignity  of  their  vocation,  that  they  are  contributing  essen 
tially  to  the  happiness  of  the  family,  and  may  render  serv 
ices  for  which  wages  are  a  poor  equivalent,  they  connect 
ideas  of  degradation  -with  their  work,  and  try  to  maintain 
their  dignity  by  jealousy  of  rights,  resistance  of  imagined 
encroachments,  bad  manners,  and  sometimes  positive  rude 
ness.  No  relation  needs  reform  so  much.  Domestic  hap 
piness  is  too  often  sacrificed  to  the  unfaithfulness  of  both 
parties  in  it.  Your  three  last  books,  I  trust,  form  an  era  in 
our  literature.  May  you  be  strengthened  to  go  on,  and  ex 
pose  the  errors  in  our  social  system." 


Life  and  Letters.  271 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Rev.  Dr.  Channing. 

"  Stock  bridge,  August  24,  1837. 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — I  can  not  tell  you  how  much  your 
very  kind  letter  has  gratified  and  encouraged  me.  I  thank 
Heaven  that  I  am  not  now  working  for  the  poor  and  perish 
ing  rewards  of  literary  ambition.  Unattainable  they  might 
be  to  me,  but,  whether  so  or  not,  they  are  not  my  object ;  and 
I  think  the  lime  has  gone  by,  or,  perhaps,  has  not  come  to 
our  country,  when  they  arc  legitimate  objects.  With  the 
great  physical  world  to  be  subdued  here  to  the  wants  of  the 
human  family,  there  is  an  immense  moral  field  opening,  de 
manding  laborers  of  every  class,  and  of  every  kind  and  de 
gree  of  talent.  Neither  pride  nor  humility  should  withhold 
us  from  the  work  to  which  we  are  clearly  '  sent.'  No  one  can 
feel  as  I  do  the  imperfection  of  the  labor  I  achieve  ;  but  I  do 
gratefully  feel  that  it  is  something  done  in  the  good  cause, 
and  such  a  Godspeed  as  yours,  my  dear  friend,  gives  me  heart 
and  courage  to  proceed.  There  is  much  sin  from  mere  ig 
norance,  and  I  have  been  told  by  persons,  in  whom  I  could 
not  previously  have  believed  such  ignorance  to  exist,  that 
my  view  of  the  relation  of  employer  and  employed  was  en 
tirely  new  to  them.  A  gentleman  asked  an  introduction  to 
me,  a  very  clever  man,  who  has  been  the  commander  of  a 
privateer  on  the  South  American  coast,  and  who  has  rather 
belter  morals  than  could  be  expected  from  such  a  position. 
He  thanked  me  for  the  light  I  had  given  him,  and  said  he 
had  always  supposed  the  Irish  were  to  be  treated  as  you 
would  treat  slaves  !  That  slaves  are  the  subjects  of  Heav 
en's  equal  laws  he  has  probably  yet  to  learn." 

Mrs.  Jameson  to  Miss  S&fgwiek. 

•'  December  22,  1837. 
"  I  can  not  allow  your  niece  to  go  to  New  York  without 


272  Life  of  Cat/tar i/ie  M.  Serfgwick* 

a  few  lines  from  me,  though  the  lines  must  be  few,  and  not 
worth  much — not  worth  postage  at  least,  yet  they  will  tell 
you  that  I  love  you  and  think  of  you,  and  never  do  think  of 
you  without  feeling  glad  and  grateful  to  have  known  you,  to 
have  you  to  think  of  and  talk  of.  *  *  *  *  Farewell,  and  God 
bless  you,  and  keep  me  a  little  wee  corner  in  that  good 
heart.  How  full  it  must  be  I  How  crammed  and  crowded, 
unless  it  has  an  India-rubber  capacity  of  extension — has  it  ? 
Put  me  somewhere,  stick  me  behind  the  door,  any  where,  but 
let  me  in." 

• 

In  the  spring  of  1838  a  sad  reverse  clouded  this  bright 
season.  Mr.  Robert  Sedgwick  was  stricken  with  paralysis, 
and  the  following  year  was  passed  in  anxious  and  devoted 
nursing,  and  in  watching  his  gradual  recovery.  In  June  he 
was  well  enough  to  pass  a  short  time  at  Rockaway,  Long 
Island,  where  the  following  letter  is  dated. 

Miss  Scdgivfck  to  Miss  A".  M.  Satgivick. 

••June  23, 1838. 

"  MY  DARLING  KATE, — Your  aunt  writes  to  your  uncle 
that  you  are  to  be  in  Warrun  Street  to-morrow,  provided  the 
weather  is  good,  which  proviso  indicates  that  you  are  com 
ing  with  Mr.  B.  I  hope  so,  and  that  when  he  has  done  the 
good  deed  of  getting  you  to  Warren  Street,  he  will  fill  up  the 
measure  of  his  virtue  by  coming  forthwith  and  bringing  you 
to  Rockaway.  If  he  can't  come,  drum  up  some  excellent 
person  who  will — excellent,  I  mean,  from  the  odor  of  sancti 
ty  which  bringing  you  to  me  will  steep  them  in.  As  to  their 
other  qualities,  I  will  not  stand  upon  them.  Your  uncle  will 
probably,  at  any  rate,  remain  here  for  a  day  or  two  next  week. 
*  #  *  *  My  beloved  child,  I  have  set  my  heart  on  enjoying 
with  you  your  first  sight  of  the  sea-shore,  the  most  sublime 
of  all  the  spectacles  of  this  earth.  I  do  not  enjoy  the  cli- 


Life  and  Letters.  273 

mate  here  ;  it  is  too  cold,  and  I  miss  the  beautiful  witnesses 
of  God's  bounty  and  love  that  are  on  our  sunny  hill-sides 
and  in  our  fruitful  valleys.  But  there  is  something  here  that 
brings  you  more  into  his  actual  presence,  and  when  you  turn 
from  it  you  feel  as  if  you  were  going  down  from  the  mount. 
Your  uncle  has  had  a  delicious  day.  I  do  not  think  he  has 
ever  enjoyed  his  existence  so  much.  His  mind  is  in  such  a 
tranquil,  grateful,  and  loving  state — it  seems  to  me  so  pre 
cisely  the  condition  of  a  saint  at  his  departure,  that  I  really 
am  at  times  awed  as  if  I  saw  him  standing  on  the  threshold 
of  another  world."  *  *  *  * 

Mrs.  Jameson  to  Miss  Sedgwick. 

"  Windsor,  August  20,  1838. 

"  On  the  very  clay  I  left  London  to  take  up  my  residence 
here,  Mr.  Putnam  brought  me  your  letter.  You  are  the 
dearest,  kindest  creature  in  the  world,  that  is  certain,  thus  to 
find  time  to  write  to  me  in  the  midst  of  your  anxieties,  dis 
tresses,  and  avocations ;  but  believe  that  I  am  grateful. 
And  then  your  letters,  no  matter  how  short,  how  long,  are 
sure  to  contain  some  word  or  words  which  lie  on  my  heart 
like  balm  for  hours  and  days  afterward.  You  have  this  in 
stinct  of  benevolence  and  affection  in  a  degree  that  no  oth 
er  possesses — no  other  that  I  have  ever  known  :  how  can  I 
but  love  you  dearly  ?  *  *  *  *  Have  you  yet  begun  the  tale 
you  mentioned  to  me  ?  Which  is  to  be  next  in  your  series  ? 
Can  I  make  any  arrangement  with  my  publisher  for  you,  by 
which  you  might  have  some  share  of  the  profits  of  the  En 
glish  editions  of  your  books?  You  are  very  popular  here. 
I  sent  you,  or  rather  Kate,  the  third  edition  of  one  of  them, 
for  I  thought  it  would  please  her." 

M2 


274  -Life  °f  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  Frank  Channing. 

"  Lenox,  October  24,  1838. 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — Your  letter  gave  the  truest  pleasure 
to  one  and  all  of  us ;  the  storms  and  toils  seemed  passed, 
and  your  minute  account  of  your  pleasant  haven  was  delight 
ful.*  Some  of  us  even  began  to  feel  an  incipient  emigrating 
fever — to  feel  the  pressure  of  the  burdens  of  our  present  so 
cial  existence  very  heavy  upon  us ;  however,  I  rather  think 
we  shall  go  on  fretting  in  the  old  harness,  and  content  our 
selves  with  rejoicing  in  your  joy,  or,  if  that  is  a  stronger  term 
than  the  case  will  warrant,  in  the  cheerful  resignation  with 
which  you  have  given  up,  and  the  energy  and  hope  with 
which  you  are  striking  your  roots  into  a  new  soil.  How  true 
it  is,  and  how  constantly  illustrated  in  all  the  various  expe- 
perience  of  life,  that,  as  F6nelon  says,  when  '  we  cease  to  re 
sist  we  cease  to  suffer/ 

"  $d  November.  My  dear  friend,  I  was  but  well  started  in 
my  letter  to  you  when  I  was  interrupted,  and  it  has  had  the 
fate  of  interrupted  letters.  For  the  last  ten  days  we  have 
been  quite  absorbed  in  preparing  to  part  and  parting  with 
our  dear  and  good  friend  Castillia.  He  and  others  of  his 
companions  have  returned  on  the  faith  of  the  amnesty  grant 
ed  to  political  offenders,  but  already  they  have  been  annoyed 
by  the  vexatious  tyrannies  that  clog  even  the  mercies  of 
the  Austrian  government.  Castillia's  affections  had  struck 
such  root  among  us  that  his  recall  seemed  like  a  second 
banishment — a  most  hard  case — and  I  am  sure  he  has  left 
behind  a  family  that  might  be  mistaken  for  weeping  parents, 
brothers,  and  sisters.  Such  is  the  effect  of  pure  goodness. 
It  finds  every  where  missionary  ground."  *  *  *  * 

*  Mrs.  Channing  had  removed  with  a  married  daughter  to  one  of  the 
Western  States. 


JLife  and  Letters.  275 

Mr.  Robert  Sedgwick  was  so  much  better  by  the  follow 
ing  spring  that  Miss  Sedgwick,  with  his  wife  and  eldest 
daughter,  and  accompanied  by  two  other  nieces,  went  with 
him  to  Europe,  in  the  hope  that  rest  and  change  of  scene 
would  prolong  his  life.  They  were  gone  nearly  two  years, 
and  he  was  so  far  restored  as  to  enjoy  the  journey  himself, 
and  to  contribute  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  others  with  much 
of  his  former  wit  and  geniality. 

Another  severe  blow  fell,  however,  during  their  absence, 
upon  the  whole  family  in  the  loss  of  Mr.  Theodore  Sedg 
wick,  a  man  of  great  nobleness  of  character,  who  died,  not 
exactly  in  the  melodramatic  manner  described  by  Miss  Mit- 
ford,  but  from  an  attack  of  apoplexy,  with  which  he  had  been 
for  some  time  threatened.  In  several  members  of  this  rare 
ly-gifted  family  the  physical  brain  seems  to  have  lacked  the 
toughness  necessary  in  the  agent  of  such  brilliant,  energetic, 
and  untiring  spirits. 

Miss  Saigivick  to  Jtev.  Z>/\  Channing. 

"New  York,  April  17,  1839. 

"  Many,  many  thanks  to  you,  my  dear  friend,  for  your  kind 
letter,  which  is  truly  a  parting  blessing  to  me ;  and  pray 
accept  all  our  thanks  for  your  letters  of  introduction.  Is  it 
not  a  privilege  to  have  made  a  name  which  opens  the  doors 
of  strangers  to  your  friends  as  well  as  to  yourself?  It  is  not 
true  that  love  always  casts  out  fear — probably  because  some 
imperfection  attaches  to  it.  We  erect  barriers  about  our 
selves,  and  then  are  all  our  lives  complaining  that  we  can 
not  overleap  them.  In  my  early  intercourse  with  you  I  par 
ticipated  the  vulgar  feeling  in  relation  to  your  superiority, 
and  was  awed  by  it,  not  knowing  that  that  was  the  very  cir 
cumstance  that  should  have  drawn  me  nearer  to  you,  and 
to  a  more  frank  intercourse.  I  hold  your  friendship  as  one 
of  God's  best  gifts,  and  imperishable." 


276  £{/<:  of  Cat/iart/ttt  Af.  Sedgivick. 


Afiss  Stdgwick  to  JRtv,  £>r.  JDewey. 

"  Kronthal,  September,  1839. 

*  *  *  *  «  What  a  lifetime  I  have  lived  since  the  night 
clear  M.  gave  me  a  shelter — since  that  ominous  shake  of 
your  hand  at  the  Astor  House  1  What  have  I  not  seen  ?  It 
would  be  more  to  the  purpose  to  tell  you  what  I  have  seen. 
The  great  literary  people  in  London — thanks  chiefly  to  F.  B. 
— Hallam,  Sydney  Smith,  Lockhart,  Milman,  and  many  oth 
ers.  I  had  a  glimpse  of  the  fashionable  world  too  ;  was 
twice  at  the  Marquis  of  Lansdowne's,  and  at  a  grand  soiree 
at  the  rich  Miss  Coutts's  \  saw  a  great  deal  of  Rogers,  who, 
by-the-by,  is  one  of  the  most  agreeable  men  I  have  seen, 
living  without  fear  of  boring  or  being  bored,  the  prevailing 
terrors  of  London  society.  Oh,  it  is  a  horrible  arena,  where, 
like  trained  gladiators,  each  awaits  his  turn  to  spring  into 
the  place  of  action  and  display  his  strength,  while  others 
are  breathlessly  waiting  to  succeed  him.  It  is  a  state  of  so 
ciety  that  belongs  to  a  high  degree  of  civilization — but  the 
civilization  of  savages.  I  would  rather  die  at  once  than  to 
struggle  as  they  do  there  to  maintain  an  existence  in  society. 
But  these  are  only  reflections  afterward  ;  for  the  time,  it 
was  all  delight,  animation,  and  fatigue.  My  six  weeks  in 
Kngland  were  six  weeks  of  prolonged  surprise  and  amaze 
ment.  What  a  magnificent  country  it  is  1  What  perfection 
of  physical  cultivation,  and  beauty,  and  comfort  1  How  es 
sentially  the  people  are  like  us  1  I  never  had  a  feeling  there 
that  I  was  out  of  my  land  except  when  I  was  reminded  by 
some  question  indicating  that  we  were  about  as  dim  and 
distant  to  them  as  heaven — or  that  other  place,  which  I  hope 
few  among  them  will  ever  make  acquaintance  with.  I  saw 
a  good  deal  of  Joanna  Baillie,  and  had  very  nice  talks  with 
her  about  ypu  and  Dr.  Charming.  She  is  a  most  sweet  lady, 
with  an  intellectual  freshness  that  is  striking  at  her  age,  and 


JLifs  and  Letters.  277 

a  mental  strength  that  would  be  striking  at  any  age.  Our 
friend  Mrs.  Jameson  I  found  much  quieter  and  happier  than 
when  she  was  in  America — as  she  should  be,  when,  instead 
of  righting  against  the  demons  of  ennui,  she  is  quietly  do 
ing  womanly  domestic  duties.  What  a  safety-valve  they 
are  1" 

On  her  return  home,  Miss  Sedgwick  published  "  Letters 
from  Abroad  to  Kinsfolk  at  Home,"  and  tells  the  story  of 
her  travels  with  so  much  grace  and  such  graphic  descrip 
tion,  that  not  much  is  left  to  say  about  them  except  what 
her  modesty  prevented  her  from  intimating — the  warmth  of 
respect  with  which  she  was  received  both  by  old  friends, 
known  personally  or  by  letter,  and  by  those  to  whom  she 
carried  introductions,  many  of  them  the  people  best  worth 
knowing  in  England  and  on  the  Continent.  Thus  the  party 
found  active  social  interest  in  almost  every  place  they  visit 
ed.  The  Sismonciis  were  affectionately  devoted  to  them  at 
Geneva ;  and  foremost  in  Italy  to  welcome  them  with  open 
arms  were  the  friends  of  the  exiles  to  whom  they  had  shown 
such  generous  hospitality.  "  Wherever  we  went,"  says  Mrs. 
Minor,  "  Aunt  Kitty,  then  fifty  years  old,  was  the  most  eager, 
the  most  enthusiastic,  the  most  untiring  of  the  party,  and 
put  us  young  girls  to  shame  by  the  zeal  with  which  she 
would  rush  out  before  breakfast,  at  any  place  where  we 
passed  a  single  night,  to  see  the  most  of  it  before  leaving  it." 

It  is  touching  to  see,  in  Miss  Sedgwick 's  record  of  the 
journey,  how  the  sweet  humanity  of  her  character  found  ex 
ercise  every  where,  from  the  little  girl  on  the  Alpine  pasture 
11  who  had  got  her  arm  about  my  neck,"  and  Baptiste,  the 
honest  Switzer  boy  who  intrusted  her  with  a  letter  for  his 
brother  in  Buenos  Ayres,  to  her  feeling  on  the  play-ground 
at  Eton,  and  in  the  ship's  cabin  where  Nelson  died,  and  her 
genuine  sympathy  with  the  newly-crowned  Queen  of  En- 


2j&  Lift:  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

gland  ;  and  then,  again,  in  her  wise  tenderness  for  Clotilde 
Poggione,  the  young  Italian  girl  of  whom  she  gives  so  lovely 
a  sketch  at  Magione,  and  her  compassion  for  the  poor  peas 
ant  of  Foligno  lamenting  over  his  dead  ox  with  grief  both 
deep  and  loud. 

On  their  return,  it  was  found  that  the  relief  to  Mr.  Sedg- 
wick's  health  had  been  only  temporary,  and  within  a  few 
months  he  died,  leaving  a  chasm  in  his  sister's  life  to  be 
bridged  only  by  religious  faith  now,  and  the  hope  of  reunion 
hereafter. 

Afiss  S&tgwlck  to  Rev.  Z)r.  Dauey. 

"  Lenox,  September  7,  1841. 

"Mv  DEAR  FRIEND, — Your  letter  was  a  comfort  to  me — 
the  greatest  comfort,  I  think,  that  words  from  a  friend  could 
give  me.  You  understand  the  heart.  You  know  I  do  not 
want  to  be  told  how  many  reasons  I  have  not  to  grieve. 
This  is  cold — selfish.  I  always  feel  it  so  ;  but  you  make  me 
feel  that  I  am  not  alone — that  I  am  not  unreasonable  in  feel 
ing  my  sorrow  to  be  as  much  as  I  can  bear.  You  speak  to 
me  of  my  lost  treasures  as  knowing  their  worth — their  worth 
to  me.  God  only  knows  how  I  have  loved  my  brothers — 
the  union  of  feeling,  of  taste,  of  principle,  of  affection  I  have 
had  with  them.  No  closer  tie  has  ever  weakened  that  which 
began  with  my  being.  I  have  no  recollection  beyond  the 
time  when  they  made  my  happiness  ;  our  lives  have  flowed 
in  one  stream ;  and  with  Robert  so  long,  that  now  I  feel  as 
if  half  my  life  were  buried  in  his  grave.  To  .others  I  know 
he  seemed  a  broken  man,  but  not  so  to  me.  I  saw  through 
the  clouds  that  had  gathered  over  his  mind — the  mind  was 
there,  and  that  which  was  the  befit  part  of  him,  as  it  is  of 
all  God's  creatures,  his  affections,  were  more  constant  and 
tender  in  their  manifestations,  and  to  me  he  often  turned 
with  the  enthusiasm  of  our  younger  and  happier  days  ;  he 


Life  and  Letters.  279 

fell  back  upon  the  worn,  accustomed  channels  that  had  been 
somewhat  clogged  by  newer  ties  and  business  cares.  We 
had  a  thousand  points  of  pleasant  memory  and  sympathy — 
we  have  been  each  the  chosen  friend  of  the  other.  From 
the  time  of  my  father's  death  he  added  to  every  thing  else  a 
father's  care  of  me  ;  and,  till  his  sickness,  I  never  gave  a 
thought  to  my  affairs,  any  more  than  if  I  still  lived  in  my 
father's  house.  But  he  is  gone — gone  when  I  did  not  ex 
pect  to  lose  him  ;  prepared  I  never  should  have  been,  for  I 
should  have  clung  to  him  while  there  was  one  gleam  of  in 
tellectual  life. 

"The  time  will  come,  and  soon,  I  trust,  when  I  shall 
think  with  a  cheerful  gratitude  of  his  firm  faith  in  immor 
tality,  of  his  calm  waiting  for  death,  of  his  preference  to  it 
over  diminished  life,  of  the  comfort  of  his  last  days,  of  his 
pure  unspotted  life  in  the  midst  of  the  overburdening  world, 
of  his  unswerving  fidelity,  of  his  exquisite  tenderness,  of 
our  near  reunion ;  but  now  I  can  only  feel  as  a  child  that 
is  torn  from  the  arms  of  its  mother — my  tears  must  .flow  till 
my  sick  .soul  is  relieved.  I  look  upon  my  only  brother  with 
a  fear  that  he  will  vanish  from  me  while  I  look  at  him.  My 
dear  friend,  I  am  pouring  out  my  heart  to  you.  Do  not — 
no,  you  will  not  think  any  thing  unkind  of  me.  I  dread 
now  your  going  away.  Weakened  as  I  am,  the  lights  seem 
all  going  out.  I  shall  certainly  come  to  see  you — at  least  I 
think  I  shall,  for  I  trust  in  one  fortnight  I  shall  rise  from 
this  blow,  and  be  able  to  see  you  without  distress.  I  have 
lived  to  feel  a  vivid  memory,  such  as  you  express  of  Harry, 
most  precious  to  me.  You  do  not  know,  I  trust,  what  it  is 
to  have  those  whose  memory  to  you  is  as  fresh  as  if  they 
had  left  you  yesterday  almost  forgotten  by  the  world.  Your 
friendship  will  last  me  while  I  live,  will  it  not?  I  have  had 
praise  and  flattery,  and  I  have  not  been  insensible  to  them  ; 
but  God  knows  they  never  weighed  for  one  moment  against 


180  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

affection,  -and  I  would  give  all  the  world  could  offer  to  me 
of  them  for  one  tone  of  Robert's  voice. 

"  God  bless  you.      Ever  yours,  truly  and  affectionately, 

"C.  M.  SEDOWICK." 


Miss  StdgwU'k  to  jRc'v.  £>r. 

••  New  York,  Feb.  26,  1842. 

*  *  *  *  "  You  see  our  papers,  no  doubt,  and  will  —  won't 
you  ?  —  rather  partake  than  laugh  at  our  '  entusymusy'  about 
Dickens.  No  doubt  there  is  some  admixture  of  egotism, 
and  those  poor  vanities  that  always  explode  in  noise  and 
nothingness  ;  but,  for  the  most  part,  it  is  a  genuine  senti 
ment,  an  involuntary  effusion  of  gratitude,  an  instinctive 
hero-worship.  It  marks  the  age  and  our  country,  for  it  per 
vades  all  classes.  After  making  a  journey  from  Boston  here 
like  a  royal  progress,  being  welcomed  with  shouts,  visited  by 
thousands,  sculptured  and  painted,  serenaded,  dined  in  pub 
lic  and  private,  and  fOted  in  every  mode,  he  has  the  discre 
tion  and  good  sense  to  decline  any  farther  public  demon 
strations.  It  is  a  proof  of  his  power  that  he  has  stood  as 
steadily  in  this  focus  of  sunbeams  as  if  he  were  in  the  cool 
shade  of  private  life.  He  has  a  beautiful  faco,  —  his  full  dark 
eye  (if  your  wife  asks  the  color,  tell  her  whether  it  be  brown, 
hazel,  blue,  or  gray,  is  yet  a  mooted  question)  is,  in  truth, 
the  spirit's  throne  of  light.  Some  of  our  exquisites  say  he 
is  not  high-bred  —  has  not  the  manners  of  the  haut  ton  ;  and, 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  if  I  had  met  him  coming  out  of  the 
Carlton,  I  might,  at  a  hurried  glance,  have  taken  him  for  one 
of  the  officials  of  the  establishment,  but  I  should  certainly 
have  stopped  to  look  at  him,  and  should  have  thought,  *  My 
friend,  what  gifts  are  lost  on  you  !'  But  he  does  not  want 
good-breeding  ;  he  is  cordial,  natural,  and,  thank  Heaven, 
unconventional.  It  was  beautiful  to  see,  at  his  dinner  here 
—  of  which  I,  with  about  fifty  other  of  womankind,  had  the 


Lift:  and  Letters,  281 

good  fortune  to  be  a  spectator — the  heartiness  with  which 
he  took  the  laurels  from  his  own  loaded  brow  and  covered 
Irving's,  so  that  for  the  moment  we  all  forgot,  as  he  meant 
we  should,  that  it  was  somewhat  faded  and  shorn  of  its  ear 
ly  glory.  But  I  have  no  more  space  for  him." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  /iV?'.  Dr.  Dcw<yy  then  in  Europe. 

"  Lenox,  June  12,  1842. 

*  *  *  *  "  You  are  near  the  Sismondis — friends  that  I 
love  and  honor  with  my  whole  heart  and  mind.  I  fear,  from 
their  own  accounts,  that  the  shadows  of  age  are  gathering 
about  them,  but  surely  the  sun  of  love  and  benevolence, 
that  made  their  home  the  pleasantcst  resting-place  in  all  our 
pilgrimage,  must  still  give  it  a  touching  charm.  Do,  if  you 
see  them,  as  you  certainly  will,  tell  me  just  how  they  are. 
They  seem  to  me  like  my  own  blood  relations.  I  have  late 
ly  got  a  notion  that  those  persons  toward  whom  we  feel  a 
sudden  and  lasting  sympathy  have  been  dear  to  us  in  some 
previous  state  of  existence — that  they  are  to  be  in  a  future 
one  (if  we  are  accounted  worthy  of  the  resurrection  1)  I  do 
not  doubt ;  but  that  they  have  been  can  only  satisfactorily 
explain  to  me  the  sudden,  unreserved,  unquestioning  min 
gling  of  mind  and  heart,  without  the  tedious  process  of  'get 
ting  acquainted.'  Thus  it  was  with  the  Sismondis,  and  with 
a  few  (very  few)  other  pre-existing  relationships.  You  will 
laugh  at  my  philosophy,  but  can  you  give  me  a  better? 

******  I  believe  I  have  never  sent  you  a  letter  without 
some  sad  cloud  over  it,  and  now  you  will  be  sorry  to  hear 
that  my  dear  sister* — long  your  true  and  earnest  friend — is 
soon  to  be  removed  from  us  ;  and  yet,  though  I  shrink — sore 
with  wounds — from  the  stroke,  I  would  not  hold  back  her 
spirit  from  the  joy  that  awaits  it.  She  said  to  me  a  few 
evenings  since,  *  My  heart  is  one  echo  to  the  infinite  good 
ness  of  my  Father !'  and  so  it  has  been  through  a  life  of 
•  MM.  Watson. 


282  Life  of  Catharine  Af*  Sedgwick. 

vexing  trials  that  would  have  cooled  any  love,  exhausted  any 
enthusiasm  but  hers.  Mr.  Watson  was  turned  out  of  office 
by  the  '  reform/  and  lost  his  little  pittance  of  a  clerkship, 
and  they  came  to  Stockbridge  to  live  on  her  slender  means. 

There,  at  my  sister  Susan's,  F.  was  married  to  L y,  and 

thus  my  sister's  heaviest  care  relieved.  She  had  been  un 
well,  and  very  ill  at  intervals  all  winter,  and  since  the  mar 
riage  she  has  steadily  declined.  She  is  now  confined  to  her 
bed,  and  suffers  only  the  general  distress  which  is  involved 
iii  utter  prostration.  F.  is  tenderly  devoted  to  her,  and  we 
are  all  by  turns  her  nurses,  so  that  she  has  those  allevia 
tions  which  her  affectionate  nature  most  needs." 

Miss  Setlgwick  to  Mrs.  Frank  Channing,  after  the  death  of 
Dr.  Charming. 

"Stockbridge,  October  14,  1842. 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — Your  letter  was  a  great  comfort  to 
us.  We  are  anxious  to  learn  all  that  can  be  learned  of  the 
closing  scenes  of  a  life  so  momentous,  so  cherished.  You, 
dear  Susan,  have  lost  the  friend  that  filled  a  relation  to  you 
that  none  else  can.  He  has  been  always  a  bright  point  to 
us  all  ;  to  you  an  object  of  unceasing  hope,  joy,  and  happi 
ness,  and  so  is  he  now.  Few  persons  seem,  even  to  our  im 
perfect  vision,  so  completely  to  have  fulfilled  their  mission. 
His  spirit  lives,  to  teach,  to  elevate,  to  comfort.  It  pervades 
his  works,  and  they  will  go  to  thousands — millions  of  this 
and  future  generations.  He  was  sent  with  a  divine  com 
mission,  of  which  he  felt  the  power ;  and  now,  though  de 
parted,  he  surely  is  not  dead.  This  summer  was  a  special 
mercy  to  us,  and  most  grateful  am  I  for  it  and  for  all  its  cir 
cumstances.  What  a  prophetic  close  to  his  ministry  was 
that  most  eloquent  invocation  J*  I  should  never  have  known 

*  At  the  close  of  an  address  which  Dr.  Channing  delivered  at  Lenox, 
on  the  ist  of  August,  1842,  the  anniversary  of  Emancipation  in  the  Brit 
ish  West  Indies,  and  which  is  included  in  his  published  works. 


Life  and  Letters.  283 

the  aflfectionateness,  the  divine  simplicity,  the  gentle  playful 
ness  of  his  character  but  for  the  intimate  intercourse  of  this 
summer.  What  a  blessing  that  you  were  here,  that  you  were 
with  him  that  last  week,  and  that  William,  so  dear  to  him, 
should  have  received  his  last  commission  —  a  holy  ordination 
it  seems  to  me." 


Miss  Sctlgtuifk  to  A'tv.  Dr. 

44  Stuck  bridge,  November  20,  1842. 

*  *  *  *  "  You  have  heard  of  Channing's  death,  and  per 
haps  that  he  passed  the  summer  at  Lenox,  and  in  a  free  and 
happy  condition  of  mind  and  healthy  state  of  body,  such  as 
he  often  said  he  did  not  remember  to  have  enjoyed  from  his 
childhood,  and  such  as  his  friends  had  never  before  ob 
served.  He  seemed  to  have  thrown  off  every  shackle,  to  be 
rid  of  his  precision,  and  he  was  so  affectionate  and  playful 
with  the  young  people  that  those  who  had  not  before  known 
him  wondered  any  one  should  fear  Dr.  Channing  I  He  liked 
our  anti-conventionalism  —  our  froc  ways  of  going  on  —  our 
individual  independence  of  thought  and  action;  he  enjoyed, 
as  if  he  had  come  home  to  his  father's  house,  the  forever- 
changing  beauty  of  our  hills  and  valleys,  and  he  went  away 
with  more  than  half  a  promise  to  return  to  us  next  summer. 
Before  he  reached  Bennington  he  took  the  cold  of  which  he 
there  died.  Died  1  what  a  word,  with  its  mortal  associations, 
to  apply  to  the  passage  of  such  a  spirit  into  the  immortal 
world  !" 

Besides  the  death  of  Mrs.  Watson,  other  family  afflictions 
had  saddened  the  last  years.  The  loss  of  Mr.  Charles  Sedg- 
wick's  oldest  son,  a  young  man  of  uncommon  promise,  and 
of  a  lovely  daughter  of  Mrs,  Jane  Sedgwick,  were  deeply  felt 
by  their  aunt,  and  these  were  followed  by  an  event  which, 
although  happy  and  desirable,  was  at  first  to  her,  as  it  is  to 


284  -Life  of  Catharine  M.  Setlgwick. 

tender  mothers,  almost  as  great  a  shock — the  marriage  of 
her  favorite  niece,  who  in  1842  became  the  wife  of  William 
Minot,  Jr.,  of  Boston,  and  from  that  time  lived  in  Boston  or  at 
Woodbourne,  her  beautiful  country  home  in  West  Roxbury. 

Miss  SctfgwU'k  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

"New  York,  April  16,  1843. 

"DEAREST  KATE, — /^feel  it  to  be  an  age  since  I  have 
written  to  you.  I  have  been  waiting  for  a  private  convey 
ance.  Postage  with  the  three  cents  tacked  on  to  the  shil 
ling  is  quite  too  severe.  I  can  put  nothing  inside  the  cask 
et  to  compensate  for  this  heavy  tariff  upon  it.  Feeling  the 
cruelty  of  this  heart-tax,  I  have  been  writing  a  little  story  il 
lustrative  of  this  evil  of  postage,  when  I  would  have  been 
writing  to  you,  my  darling.  I  think  I  feel  more  heavily  ev 
ery  day  my  absence  from  you.  I  can  not  bear  the  rolling 
away  of  month  after  month,  the  rising  and  setting  of  suns, 
without  one  glimpse  of  that  dear  face  that  has  so  long  been 
my  sunshine,  my  repose,  my  every  thing.  I  do  not  com 
plain.  God  knows  that,  stripped  and  solitary  as  I  often  feel, 
I  have  still  far  more  than  I  deserve  ;  but  the  companions  of 
my  youth,  the  dearest  friends  of  my  happiest  years,  are  gone 
— from  the  (fairest  left  I  am  separated — but  it  is  useless, 
even  to  you,  to  breathe  the  oppression  of  my  soul.  *  *  *  *  I 
went  last  evening,  through  a  fog  that  made  our  streets  al 
most  impenetrably  dark,  to  hear  Mr.  Gal  latin  on  the  sub 
ject  of  the  red-line  map.  To  hear  him  was  impossible,  for, 
though  his  mind  is  unscathed  by  the  wear  and  tear  of  more 
than  eighty  years,  his  voice  is  too  feeble  to  fill  ft  large  chap 
el  (the  chapel  of  the  University)  crowded  with  people.  I 
suppose  his  exposition  of  the  case  will  appear  in  print.  I 
passed  an  hour  at  his  house  a  few  evenings  since,  and  heard 
him  talk  with  great  clearness  and  interest  on  the  subject. 
There  has  been  discovered,  among  the  papers  of  Mr.  Fay,  a 


JLift  and  Letters.  285 

very  interesting  document  —  a  map  used  by  the  commission 
ers  when  they  made  the  treaty,  more  favorable  to  us  even 
than  the  late  treaty,  so  that  I  trust  one  dark  shadow,  at 
least,  will  pass  from  our  escutcheon.  It  is  enough  to  have 
public  officers  defaulters,  and  our  states  and  merchants 
bankrupts,  without  having  our  statesmen  as  tricky  as  tin- 
peddlers.  Mr.  G.  reminded  me  of  our  clear  Sismondi,  and 
a  fervent  kiss  he  gave  me  at  meeting  seemed  for  an  instant 
to  blend  his  identity  with  our  beloved  friend."  *  *  *  * 


Miss  StrtteKHfA  to  Mrs.  JC.  S.  Minot. 

"  New  York,  June  C,  1843. 

*  *  *  *  "Your  mother  went  off  yesterday  P.M.  in  good 
heart  and  health,  and  in  a  cab  packed  as  one  packs  a  trunk. 
You  could  just  see  her  face  above  a  sea  of  things.  I  sent  a 
basket  of  plants,  taking  it  for  granted  that  those  already 
there  that  escaped  sovcn  months  of  steady  freezing  weather 
were  sealed  up  under  June  ice. 

"  Anne  A.  and  I  went  a  few  evenings  since  to  take  a  so 
ciable  dish  of  tea  with  Mrs.  Banyer,  and  Fenimore  Cooper 
dropped  in.  I  rather  think  the  light  by  which  we  see  the 
world  emanates  from  ourselves.  He  moves  in  a  belligerent 
spirit,  waging  war  with  classes  and  masses,  boarding  and 
broadsiding  his  fellow-creatures.  He  maintained  that  his 
own  country  was  below  France,  Italy,  and  even  England  in 
civilization,  intellectual  development,  morals,  and  manners  ; 
that  we  were  going  in  every  thing  backward;  that  in  com 
mon  honesty  we  were  below  any  other  nation.  Being  in  the 
presence  of  Mrs.  Banyer  and  Miss  Jay,  who  sanctify  the 
very  names  of  Christian  and  saint,  he  attacked  the  whole 
class  with  man-of-thc-world  slang,  and  wound  up  with  prom 
ising  me  a  pamphlet  of  his,  just  coming  out,  which  is  to 
grind  M*Kenzie  to  powder.  With  all  this,  he  was  good- 
humored,  and  talked  strongly  and  amusingly.  He  is  a  per- 


286  Life  of  Catharine  M. 

feet  John  Bull  in  shape,  dimensions,  action,  even   to   the 
growl."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Satffwick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

'*  Lenox,  October  22, 1843, 

****««  \ye  Seem  just  to  have  got  into  a  regular,  profit 
able  mode  of  life  as  the  breaking-up  is  coming.  I  get  about 
an  hour  to  write  in  the  morning,  and  have  finished  two 
'  drafts1  since  you  went  away.  Your  mother  is  reading  aloud 
Alison  in  the  afternoons,  and  B.  has  been  reading  some  of 
Smyth's  best  lectures  to  us  in  the  evening.  He  is  one  of 
those  great  spirits  that  stand  on  so  high  an  elevation  that  he 
has  an  almost  unbounded  horizon,  and,  seeing  all  around 
him,  measures  exactly  the  proportion  of  things.  With  what 
noble  justice,  philosophy,  and  truth  he  opens  the  field  of  his 
tory  to  his  pupils  1  What  an  antipodc  is  he  to  John-Bull- 
ism  !  We  perhaps  have  not  read  enough  of  Alison  to  judge 
him.  He  is  evidently  yet  in  the  low  and  obstructed  region 
of  Conservatism,  and  he  reads,  studies,  and  writes  history  to 
confirm  the  judgment  he  inherited.  Religion  and  govern 
ment  are  cast  in  a  certain  mould  in  his  mind — a  divine  form 
that  admits  no  change  or  variation.  He  has  an  animated 
relation  of  events,  and  when  he  is  not  misled  by  his  biases, 
he  is  a  very  agreeable  writer.  A  familiarity  with  Sismondi 
rather  gives  you  a  distaste  to  such  a  historian  as  Alison. 
My  criticisms  are  made  between  runnings  into  the  kitchen 
to  look  after  a  variety  baking,  so  I  do  not  choose  to  be  re 
sponsible  for  any  absurdities  I  may  chance  to  write.  The 
last  mail  brought  me  a  delightful  letter  from  Mad,  Sismondi. 
Delightful  I  Alas  I  it  is  all  a  requiem."  *  *  *  * 

Afiss  Sedgivick  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Afinot, 

"New  York,  Sunday,  December  31,  1843. 

*  *  *  *  "  Last  evening  was  a  Berkshire  at  the  O'Sulli- 


Life  and  Letters.  287 

vans'.  Alexander  Everett  is  staying  with  them.  They  are 
living  in  one  end  of  the  University,  the  prettiest  rooms  in 
New  York,  with  pointed  Gothic  windows  and  paneled  doors, 
and  the  loveliest  silver  lamps  lighted  with  gas.  The  pic 
tures  of  five  generations  of  the  O'S.s  over  the  mantel-piece 
in  little,  encircling  a  Madonna  portrait  of  M.  and  A. — in 
short,  every  thing  in  keeping  with  these  most  picturesque  of 
all  the  moderns.  Dr.  F.,who  was  there,  and  whp  harangued 
to  me  all  the  evening,  told  me  that  he  asked  Ole  Bull  if  Pa- 
ganini  had  been  his  master.  *  No,'  he  replied ;  '  poverty, 
wretchedness,  and  despair  were  my  masters — greater  than 
Pnganini.'  They  truly  are  the  great  teachers  and  preach 
ers,  and  yet  he  who  is  greatest  among  us  has  little  affinity 
with  any  of  them — Mr.  Dewey.  I  heard  him  to-day  preach 
a  very  solemn  discourse  suggested  by  the  closing  year.  Its 
admonitory  truths  came  home  to  my  heart."  *  *  *  * 

Jlf/'ss  S&fgwitJi  to  Mrs.  -AT.  S.  Afinot. 

"  Lenox,  February,  1844. 

*  *  *  *  «  j  havc  naci  several  letters  from  Fanny  K.*  I 
am  very  much  struck  with  the  progress  of  her  mind  in  the 
last  four  years.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  intimate  inter 
course  with  the  brilliant  accomplishment,  the  wit,  and  the 
instruction  of  London  has  wrought  her  genius  up  to  the 
highest  polish  of  which  genius  is  susceptible,  while  her  bit 
ter  experience,  falling  on  religious  principle,  has  matured 
the  best  parts  of  her  character.  Her  eloquence  in  conver 
sation  is  marvelous  ;  we  sat  up  sometimes  till  one,  and  to 
the  last  the  vigor  of  her  expressions,  and  the  flow  of  rich, 
fresh  thoughts  delighted  me." 

*  Mrs.  Fanny  Kcmblc   Butler,  with  whom   Miss   Scdgwick  had  been 
recently  staying  in  Philadelphia. 


288  Life  of  Cat/iarittt  M.  Stdgwick. 

Miss  Sedgivick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minof. 

"  Lenox,  August  14,  1844, 

*  *  *  *  « i  gave  a  picnic  party  ou  the  lake  last  week  to 
the  little  children,  and  we  mustered,  with  those  who  came  to 
look  after  them  and  look  at  them,  seventy-nine.  It  was  very 
successful.  Who  ever  failed  when  children  and  summer, 
freedom  and  green  fields,  were  the  elements  of  the  festi 
val  ?»**** 

Miss  Se<tgtvit&  to  Mrs,  K.  S.  Minof. 

"  Stockbridgc,  October  18,  1844. 

*•***«<  My  arrival  at  Lenox  was  rather  of  the  dismal- 
est.  The  afternoon  was  lowering  and  dripping,  and  when 
Chaflee  dumped  me  down  at  the  gate — bag  and  baggage — 
instead  of  the  multitudinous  sea  of  happy  human  faces  that 
I  left  there,  all  was  solitary,  silent,  and  cheerless.  I  opened 
the  door  to  rooms  un-soutcut,  un-carpeted,  and  stacked  with 
chairs  and  tables  in  apparent  mutiny ;  no  frolic,  no  Jessie. 
"  Tray,  Blanche,  and  Sweetheart"  all  gone.  At  last,  hover 
ing  over  the  kitchen  stove  (not  the  wide-mouthed  kitchen 
fireplace,  once  the  concentrated  symbol  of  home-charities), 
I  found  a  poor  pilgrim  from  Erin,  Anstey,  and,  at  the  sound 
of  our  voices,  in  rushed  Mary  Brown,  and  finally  came  Jes 
sie,  doing  all  that  faithful  little  dog  could  do  to  speak  wel 
come  and  consolation.  *  *  *  I  felt  somewhat  as  the  passen 
gers  on  the  Styx  may — on  a  strait  between  two  worlds,  the 
bright  one  I  had  left,  and  that  gathered  in  the  happy  valley. 
But  with  the  morning  came  the  angel  of  our  life,  and  with 
him  G.,  sweet  and  welcoming.  Your  father  had  a  most  sat 
isfactory  cousining  progress.  He  found  *  Cousin  Ben1  wor 
thily  filling  the  patriarchal  place  of  our  dear  Uncle  John. 
Their  reunion,  after  years  of  needless  separation,  was  most 
touching,  and  the  good  man's  prayer,  in  his  evening  dcvo- 


Lift:  and  Letters.  289 

tion,  with  it3  thanksgiving  and  its  supplication  for  the  con 
tinued  friendship  of  their  descendants,  was  such  as  Burns's 
father  would  have  tittered,  or,  rather,  such  as  Burns,  with  his 
exquisite  conception  of  the  holiest  feelings  of  domestic  life, 
would  have  put  into  his  mouth."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Sxtgivick  to  Mrs,  K.  S.  Minot,  after  the  birth  of  her  first 

MM. 
4)  "  Lenox,  November  n,  1844, 

*  *  #  *  «  Since  that,  you,  as  well  as  our  darling,  have  en 
tered  a  new  world — a  world  of  imperishable  affection,  of 
hopes,  and  fears,  and  projects.     You  have  received  the  best 
gift  that  God  gives  to  his  creatures,  the  best  treasure  for 
earth,  and  a  treasure  to  be  laid  up  in  heaven  forever  and 
ever.     And  this  gift,  I  trust,  my  dear  child,  will  find  its  due 
return  of  gratitude  and  devotion  to  the  Giver — will  find  you 
guarding  against  that  mere  extension  of  self-love  with  which 
some  parents  love  their  children,  but  rather  making  this  new 
spring  of  love  an,  impulse  of  activity,  of  devotion  to  those  to 
whom  you  have  or  can  make  the  opportunity  of  doing  good. 
Thus  may  our  baby  be  the  centre  of  concentric  circles;  thus 
may  the  fountain  she  fills  continually  overflow  and  spread 
in  many  life-refreshing  channels  ;  thus  may  she  be  the  vestal 
that  shall  keep  the  fire  ever  burning  in  your  holiest  of 
holies.     Take  care  that  it  be  so,  my  darling.    With  the  best, 
virtues  do  not  spring  up,  or,  rather,  grow  spontaneously ; 
they  need  continual  tending,  and,  alas!  sometimes  watering 
with  tears."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Sedgivick  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Mi/tof. 

"  Lenox,  November,  18^. 

*  *  *  *  «  j  am  jUS|;  now  very  much  taken  up  with  watch 
ing  my  poor  little  Jessie's*  maternity.     '  Ma  ch&re  m&re* 

*  Jessie,  n  delicate  little  black-and-tan  terrier. 

N 


290  jL/fi  of  Catharine  AT.  Sedgwick. 

I  call  her,  though  I  am  sure  from  no  likeness  to  that  most 
charming  of  all  odious  people,  except  in  devoted  love  to  her 
unworthy  whelp,  the  ugliest  little  tyke  you  ever  saw,  and 
Jessie  the  prettiest  mother  imaginable — of  the  canine  spe 
cies.  It  is  almost  Beauty  and  the  Beast ;  and  such  tender 
and  picturesque  devotion  !  What  Infinite  Love  it  must  bo 
that  feeds  all  these  multiform  streams  !  She  has  a  couch 
nicely  prepared  under  my  sofa,  where  she  stays  excepting 
when  her  baby  is  so  uproarious  that  I  am  obligcd^o  cany 
her  into  the  next  room." 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  JRcv.  JDr.  Dcwty. 

"  SlockbridgO)  December  I,  1844. 

"Mv  DEAR  FKIUND, — That  canon  of  the  orthodox  Church 
which  proscribes  letter-writing  on  the  Sabbath  seems  to  me 
to  have  .a  more  than  common  infusion  of  their  character  of 
the  mole  which  works  underground  and  in  darkness,  and  ut 
terly  without  that  divine  light  afforded  to  those  who,  though 
their  wings  are  still  invisible,  hope,  one  of  these  bright  com 
ing  days,  to  unfold  them  in  the  empyrean.  Is  not  letter- 
writing  (sometimes !)  the  exercise  of  that  principle  of  love 
by  which  we  are  partakers  of  the  divine  nature?  Is  it  not 
the  utterance  of  our  immortal  spirits — of  that  portion  of  our 
being  which  alone  will  live  through  the  eternal  Sabbath? 
Answering  instinctively  yes  to  these  my  own  questions,  I 
hold  it  fitting  to  devote  this  Sunday  afternoon  to  writing  to 
you,  my  dear  friend,  who  are  associated  with  my  purest  en 
joyments  on  earth,  and  with  the  objects  and  substance  of 
my  faith  in  '  things  hoped  for.' 

"  I  received  your  very  kind  note  from  West  Stockbridge, 
and  thank  you  earnestly  for  writing  it.  It  was  one  of  those 
impromptu  expressions  that,  like  the  grasping  of  hands  in 
a  passing  crowd,  indicates,  more  than  a  predetermined  at 
tention,  that  the  current  sets  right,  that  the  heart  of  affection 


JLife  and  JLcttcrs.  291 

beats  evenly  and  steadily.  I  wish  you  could  have  come  to 
us,  if  it  were  only  for  an  hour  or  two.  Summer  visits  are 
somewhat  like  the  notes  of  a  favorite  bird,  so  drowned  in 
the  general  song  of  multitudinous  life  that  they  lose  half 
their  virtue ;  and  what  is  there  on  earth  like  the  presence 
of  a  friend  ?  Nothing.  It  is  a  fitting  type  of  heaven.  I 
thought  of  you  yesterday,  and  of  your  love  and  estimation 
of  winter  scenery,  which  I  know  corresponds  with  my  own. 
After  a  pleasant  Thanksgiving  at  Lenox,  where  we  gathered 
the  few  fragments  of  our  family  together,  and  for  the  mo 
ment  closed  up  the  abyss  between  us  and  those  departed 
by  fond  memories  and  living  hopes,  I  came  down  with  my 
sister  to  pass  a  few  days  at  the  old  homestead — my  only 
home — the  only  place  on  earth  where  forms,  common  and 
mute  to  others,  have  to  me  soul  and  speech  ;  where  voices 
linger  in  the  walls  of  the  rooms,  and  make  their  sweet  and 
by-gone  cheerfulness  and  tenderness  ring  in  my  ears  in  the 
dead  of  the  night ;  where  the  stems  of  the  old  trees  arc  still 
warm  with  the  hands  that  once  pressed  them  ;  where,  in 
short,  the  dead  arc  not  dead. 

"  But  it  was  not  all  this  that  I  meant  to  write  to  you,  but, 
alone  here  at  this  moment,  I  can  not  help  feeling  it,  and 
what  I  feel  when  I  am  writing  to  you,  that  I  must  write.  I 
was  about  to  tell  you  of  the  beauty  of  yesterday  morning, 
when  Winter  rose  in  her  '  robes  pontifical,  ne'er  seen  but 
wondered  at.1  Summer  is  but  a  drawing-room  scene  com 
pared  to  it.  The  sun  of  these  days  rises  behind  the  highest 
point,  in  our  eastern  horizon,  and  consequently  his  beams 
shoot  clown  the  sides  of  the  mountains,  and  even  into  the 
laps  of  the  hills,  before  he  is  himself  visible.  A  newly-fallen 
snow  covered  the  whole  area  between  the  hills  from  moun 
tain  top  to  mountain  top,  and  every  tree  and  shrub  ;  not  a 
breath  of  air  had  shaken  the  snow  off  the  lightest  twig.  It 
was  intensely  cold,  and  the  smoke  from  our  village  homes — 


292  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

the  breath  of  their  nostrils — rose  in  a  solid  column  white 
and  bright  as  molten  silver.  Here  a  rose -colored  light 
flushed  the  hills,  and  there  the  light  dropped  down  into 
their  hollows  like  cloth  of  gold.  The  whole  vault  of  heaven 
was  of  the  brightest  blue  ;  not  a  cloud,  not  a  paling  hue  over 
any  portion  of  it ;  and  far  up  in  the  clear  atmosphere,  and 
relieved  against  this  brilliant  blue,  stood  the  magnificent 
trees,  with  their  winter  foliage  of  snowy  wreaths.  Then  up 
came  the  sun,  and  the  trees  that  crested  the  summit  all 
along  his  horizon  glittered  as  if  they  were  shining  in  another 
world. 

"  I  should  have  feared  boring  most  people  with  all  these 
scenic  particulars,  but  to  you  they  will  be  open-sesames  to 
the  memory  of  Sheffield  winter  days. 

"  Shall  I  confess  why  I  have  not  written  to  you  for  some 
weeks  past  ?  I  will,  to  my  own  shame — because  I  had  not 
read  the  sermon  you  sent  me.  It  came  while  I  was  in  Bos 
ton.  C.  lent  it  to  some  wicked  borrower,  and  it  was  not  re- 
turned." 

Mis s  Strfgwick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

"  New  York,  March  2,  1845. 

*  *  *  *  "  There  is  a  great  stir  here  among  the  good  peo 
ple  of  various  classes  about  an  association  in  behalf  of  the 
tenants  of  our  prisons.  I  wonder  if  a  Humane  Society  could 
not  be  got  up  for  the  worst  and  most  dangerous  body  of 
criminals  in  our  country — our  Congressmen.  If  Hope,  Faith, 
and  Charity  can  stretch  to  their  case,  they  must  be  infinite 
in  their  capacity.  This  result  of  the  Texas  Question  is  most 
disheartening.  I  see  nothing  for  us  but  letting  the  South 
fall  off  by  its  own  dead  weight.  But  to  my  own  private 
cases  of  villains,  etc.  I  went  to  a  meeting  of  the  Ladies' 
Prison -Discipline  Society,  where  a  committee  from  the 
men's  society  appeared  to  remind  the  women  that  they  were 


Life  and  Letters.  293 

but  a  department ;  that  a  report  they  had  printed,  and  which 
was  just  ready  for  publication,  would  knock  up  all  the  mag 
nificent  plans  of  the  House  of  Lords,  etc.,  etc.  The  ladies' 
president  meekly  confessed  a  blunder.  Some  of  her  collab 
orators  were  disposed  to  stand  upon  their  reserved  rights, 
some  modestly  hinted  they  had  privileges  as  well  as  respon 
sibilities,  and  it  finally  ended  in  an  agreement  for  a  meeting 
to  settle  these  somewhat  important  preliminaries,  till  after 
which  I  deferred  my  membership.  *  *  *  *  The  Texas  Bill  1 
Who  can  tell  what  is  to  be  the  fate  of  (he  country.  I  do 
not  despair,  but  I  give  up  the  Democratic  party.  They  have 
covered  themselves  with  everlasting  and  irredeemable  dis 
grace."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Sedgwick  soon  after  joined  the  Prison  Association, 
and  was  one  of  its  most  efficient  members.  A  sketch  of  her 
connection  with  it,  and  with  the  "  Isaac  T.  Hopper  Home" 
for  the  reception  and  employment  of  women  discharged  from 
prison,  will  be  found  in  the  latter  part  of  this  volume,  from 
the  pen  of  her  old  and  valued  friend,  Mrs.  Abby  Hopper 
Gibbons. 

Miss  Scdgivii'k  to  Airs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

44  New  York,  March  u,  1845, 

"  MY  DEAREST  KATE, — I  received  your  letter  after  J.  left 
us  on  Saturday,  and  did  not  answer  it  on  Sunday  because  I 
used  up  my  eyes  writing  to  your  father,  and  answering  a 
beautiful  letter  from  our  learned  cousin  of  Kent,  Prof.  Adam 
Sedgwick,*  Then  I  put  off  writing  till  after  our  Monday 
evening,  because  I  was  sure  J.  would  want  to  know  how  it 
came  off.  Yesterday  morning  was  cloudy  enough  out  doors 
and  in,  raining  and  snowing  by  turns.  Your  Aunt  Lizzy, 

*  A  delightful  correspondence  with  Professor  Sedgwick  was  kept  up 
till  Miss  Scdgwick's  death. 


294  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 


after  a  Sunday  of  fever  and  suffering,  got  up  very  feeble. 
S.  was  quite  ill  in  bed,  J.  gone  —  J.,  whom  all  declared  es 
sential  to  the  *  sweet  security'  of  a  party.     *  If  they  are  pleas 
ant  people,'  said  L,,  *  J.  enjoys  them  ;  if  they  are  stupid,  she 
entertains  them.'     I  was  for  omitting  the  evening,  it  was  so 
forlorn  to  have  our  gentle  S.  ill  —  she  who  is  not  like  the  sun, 
nor  the  serene  moon,  nor  the  beaming  stars,  for  they  are 
often  clouded,  but  like  the  blessed  beacon-lights  that  shine 
in  all  weathers.     However,  your  aunt  rose  with  good  cour 
age,  S.  put  her  veto  on  any  intermission,  and  we  concluded 
to  light  the  lamps,  the  old  ones  to  put  on  their  t'other  caps, 
and  the  young  ones  their  pretty  dresses.  *  *  *  *  Catharine 
S.,  who  looked,  if  possible,  more  lovely  than  ever,  recited  a 
piece  of  Lander's,  which  certainly  deserves  the  praise  that 
William  Charming  (who  was  here)  gives  to  all  Lander's  po 
etry,  of  being  done  with  the  perfection  of  an  antique  gem. 
It  is  singular  that  this  girl  always  selects  poetry  of  the  se 
vere  classic  order,  which  seems  so  perfectly  to  accord  with 
the  style  of  her  beauty  and  the  order  of  her  character.     I 
have  never  seen  any  body  like  her.     She  has  the  serenity, 
the  power  without  restlessness,  not  without  consciousness, 
but  content  to  bide  its  time,  which  is  indicated  in  the  con 
centration  and  tranquillity  of  the  beautiful  antiques.     When 
she  recited  the  Lady's  part  in  Comus,  she  seemed  perfectly 
to  embody  the  idea  of  the  poet.  *  *  *  *  A  great  —  (/it  great 
circumstance  of  the  evening  to  me  was  the  reception  of  an 
answer  to  my  letter  to  Cassius  Clay  —  a  noble  letter,  breath 
ing  the  consecration  of  his  high  mission.  *  *  *  *  I  hope 
William  will  subscribe  for  the  paper  Mr.  Clay  is  setting  up 
to  forward  the  anti-slavery  cause  in  Kentucky.     It  is  a  sub 
lime  enterprise,  and  he  should  have  the  answering  sympathy 
of  all  true  men.     Do  talk  with  Mrs.  D.   and  M.  about  it. 
There  is  always  fire  in  their  furnace,  on  their  altar  I  might 
say,  but  that  their  fashion  is  to  turn  out  work  as  well  as  to 
let  the  flame  go  upward."  *  *  *  * 


Life  and  Letters.  295 

Af/'ss  Sa/gwicA  to  Mrs.  JK.  S.  Minot. 

11  Linwood,  near  Khincbcck,  June  13,  1845. 

*  *  *  *  « j)0  yOU  remember  my  once  receiving  a  letter 
from  Miss  G.,  with  some  verses,  very  pretty,  from  Maria  T., 
a  servant  of  hers,  thanking  me  for  having  done  service  to  the 
cause  of  domestics  in  *  Live  and  Let  Live,'  and  do  you  re 
member  that  I  gave  her  volume  of  poems  to  that  good  old 
Wcslcyan  missionary  of  the  St.  James?  Well,  being  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  G.s,  I  determined  to  go  and  see  them, 
and  a  few  evenings  since,  when  we  were  taking  our  drive, 
the  Dr.  dropped  me  at  their  gate.  I  approached  the  house, 
a  modest,  old-fashioned  structure,  by  a  gravel-walk  through 
an  orchard  covered  with  old  trees,  with  their  shadows  sleep 
ing  on  a  bed  of  the  richest  clover.  As  I  turned  round  the 
house  I  came  to  the  piazza,  and  there  an  erect  old  lady, 
4  touched- (sanctified),  not  spoiled'  by  age,  was  standing,  ex 
plaining  to  a  little  girl,  such  as  our  Posy  will  be  five  years 
hence,  a  picture  of  Daniel  and  Belshazzar.  It  was  a  picture. 
Roses  of  all  hues  in  their  June  bloom  were  trained  about  the 
piazza,  a  lawn  with  groups  of  noble  old  trees  before  it,  and  be 
low  it  a  magnificent  stretch  of  the  river  studded  with  a  little 
fleet  of  sloops.  I  introduced  myself  to  the  old  lady.  Her 
daughter  soon  made  her  appearance,  a  cheerful,  intelligent, 
excellent  person,  living  a  truly  godly  life  here,  as  far  as  a  glo 
rious  scenery  can  make  it  so,  in  the  vestibule  of  heaven.  My 
friend  Maria  T.  soon  appeared,  to  my  infinite  embarrass 
ment  treating  me  with  as  much  reverence  as  if  her  saints 
had  appeared  to  her.  She  blends  a  nun-like  sanctity  and 
intellectual  gloamings  with  the  deferential  manner  of  an  En 
glish  serving-woman — an  odd  mixture  enough  J  I  confess 
to  jw/,  dear. Kate,  that  her  expressions  of  gratitude  and  af 
fection  were  very  precious  to  me.  She  came  afterward  to 
sec  me,  and  when  she  took  leave,  *  God  bless  you,  Miss  S./ 


Lifts  of  Catharine  Af. 

she  said ;  '  may  you  never  want  a  servant,  friend,  or  what  you 
may  please  to  call  her.'  I  staid  to  tea  at  Mrs.  G.'s.  She  is 
one  of  the  two  last  of  the  old  race  of  L.s,  a  sister  of  the  cel 
ebrated  E.  L.,  and  of  the  chancellor.  There  were  twelve  of 
them,  who  lived  strong  and  joyous  lives,  all  having  lordly  es 
tates  in  the  Manor,  with  iron  physical  and  rich  intellectual 
constitutions.  They  ate  and  drank  after  the  old  fashion  — 
turile  soups,  mince  pies,  and  Madeira  wine  for  dinner,  hot 
suppers  at  night,  laughed  together  over  their  breakfast-ta 
bles — all  lived  to  slip  far  beyond  the  prescribed  boundary 
of  man's  life,  and  here  is  Mrs.  G.  absolutely  unimpaired  at 
92.  Oh,  in  what  blessed  ignorance  they  have  lived  and  died 
of  dyspepsia  and  nerves !  We  had  tea  on  the  piazza ;  it 
was  prepared  when  I  arrived,  and  one  refreshing  relic  there 
was  of  the  olden  time.  I  heard  Mrs.  G.  tell  the  maid  '  to 
change  the  tea-cups/  and  the  best  china  appeared.  The 
old  lady  presided  with  a  sort  of  lofty  grace,  and  drank  green 
tea,  and  ate  strawberries  and  cream  *  sans  peur  et  sans  re- 
prochc.'  She  became  a  Methodist,  to  the  great  scandal  of 
her  aristocratic  family,  who  were  as  aristocratic  in  their  re 
ligion  as  in  every  thing  else,  and  married,  at  40,  an  honest, 
good  preacher  after  the  old  pattern  of  Methodism.'1 

Madame  Sismondi  to  Afiss  Scdgwick. 

"January,  1846. 

"  I  received  your  precious  letter  yesterday,  my  most  dear 
friend,  and  I  prepare  my  letter  while  my  heart  is  warm  with 
gratitude  to  you,  as  well  as  love,  for  I  have  received  from  it 
great  benefit  as  well  as  consolation.  I  find  in  it  an  almost 
inspired  perception  of  the  invisible  world,  and  such  an  out 
pouring  of  trust  in  God  as,  if  it  fails  of  permanently  persuad 
ing  me  to  the  same  beloved  trust,  for  the  moment  excites  a 
sympathetic  feeling  that  is  inexpressibly  comforting.  It 
gives  me  such  a  longing  desire  to  see  you,  to  talk  with  you, 


Life  and  Letters.  297 

to  hear  you,  thai  visionary  plans  of  meeting  you  again  in 
this  world  have  been  continually  rising  to  my  imagination, 
in  spite  of  knowing  it  can  never  be.  I  read  and  re-read 
it,  and  it  must  supply  my  want  of  you,  though  it  can  not 
hinder  that  oft -repeated  regret,  Oh,  if  I  had  her  near  me,  I 
would  take  all  my  documents  and  fearlessly  lay  them  open 
to  her,  because  I  know  he  would  not  have  objected  to  her 
seeing  the  inmost  of  his  soul." 

Miss  Sedgivuk  to  Mrs.  JK.  S.  Minot. 

"Stntcn  Island,  Tuesday,  July  28,  1846. 

*  *  *  *  u  Went  off  to  the  *  Home,1  where  1  had  a  recep 
tion  that  did  me  a  great  deal  of  good.     One  of  our  inmates, 
wiio  has  bceny>Y///,  saw  me  from  the  third  story  window,  and 
made  but  one  step  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  ; 
and  the  outstretched  hands  and  brightened  eyes  of  these 
poor  creatures  spoke  to  me  an  assurance  that  they  have  that 
in  them  which  will  finally  be  worked  out  of  the  dismal  swamp 
of  circumstances,  and  carry  them  back  to  Him  who  is  love." 
*  *  *  « 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

"  Lenox,  August  23,  1846. 

*  *  *  *  «  A  charming  letter  from  our  dear  Madame  Sis- 
jnondi.     The  following  are  extracts  she  gives  me  from  Sis- 
mondi's  journal : 

"  *  JDittiaitfJit:,  6""  Octobre,  1839.  Miss  Scclgwick  cst  arriv6e 
avec  sa  ni&ce  Kate.  Nous  sommcs  rest6s  u,  causer  ensem 
ble  jusqu'tt  micli.  Plus  nous  passons  dc  temps  ensemble, 
ct  plus  jc  m'affecUonne  a  eux  tous.  Un  petit  livre  que 
Madlle.  it  donn6  t\  ma  fcmme  m 'attache  encore  davantage  tl 
clle.  II  est  charmant,  et  de  morale  et  d'art  de  conter — si 
facile,  si  bref,  si  pittoresquc.  On  1'aiine  et  on  1'admire  pour 
u  n  si  bcl  usage  de  ses  talents.1 

N  2 


298  Lift  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 


i,  15"".  C'est  le  dernier  jour  cle  nos  Seclgwicks  — 
ils  sont  arrives  le  29'"°  Septembre.  Nos  coeurs  se  sont 
tout  i\  fait  unis  —  ils  nous  aiment  tous,  et  nous  les  aimons 
tous,  et  cle  tant  de  separations  qui  se  renouvellent  pour 
nous  chaque  jour,  c'est  la  seule  qui  me  laisse  une  vraie 
melancholic/ 

"Dear  Kate,  does  not  the  rich  past  flow  its  strong  current 
over  your  soul  as  you  read  this  ?  Do  you  not  live  over  again 
our  long  walks  and  pleasant  drives  to  Chflne  ?  Does  not  the 
gate  of  that  pretty  hedged  fence  open  again  for  us  ?  and  that 
low  house,  which  held  such  heavenly  souls,  again  smile  on 
us  ?  He  lives  as  she  lives  to  us  —  and  the  widest  sea  is  be 
tween  her  and  us.'* 

M/ss  Scdgwick  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Afinot. 

•'  Lenox,  September  27,  1846. 

*  *  *  *  <t  Our  good  friend  Von  Man1*  is  drawing  near  his 
departure  with  all  that  elevation  of  spirit  that  has  charac 
terized  his  life.  I  have  never  seen  so  heroic  an  endurance 

*  I  Ccrr  von  Mandclslohc,  referred  to  in  this  letter  by  the  affectionate 
diminutive  constantly  used  by  his  friends,  was  a  German  (from  Hanover) 
of  noble  birth,  but  an  enthusiast  for  political  liberty  and  social  equality. 
Bred  to  military  life,  he  abandoned  his  profession  and  his  country,  and 
came,  without  resources,  to  Canada,  and  thence,  very  destitute,  to  New 
York,  where  he  became  known  to  Mr.  iJryant,  and  was  by  him  intro 
duced  to  Theodore  Scdgwick,  who  sent  him  to  Stockbridgc  to  earn  a 
support  by  teaching  German.  lie  was  a  very  eccentric  person.  With 
a  warm,  generous  heart,  and  wide  benevolence,  he  was  proud  and  sensi 
tive,  and  would  receive  no  favors  from  those  whom  he  did  not  love. 
He  taught  with  unwearied  zeal  and  enthusiasm  those  who  learned  with 
zeal,  but  would  rather  starve  than  earn  money  by  teaching  indifferent 
pupils. 

He  lived  two  or  three  summers  at  Stockbridgc  and  Lenox,  receiving 
the  welcome  which  the  stranger,  the  solitary,  the  poor,  and  the  unfortu 
nate  always  found  there,  and  was  tenderly  nursed  by  Mr.  Charles  Scdg 
wick  during  his  last  illness, 


Life  and  Letters.  299 

of  the  miseries  that  heroism  is  rarely  equal  to  resisting. 
Pain,  the  infliction  of  remedies  in  which  he  had  no  faith,  the 
incompetence  and  annoyance  of  poor  nurses  and  bad  watch 
ers,  he  has  borne  with  unwavering  fortitude  and  patience, 
concentrating  his  soul  in  unbounded  gratitude,  and  keeping 

his  whole  spiritual  nature  sanctified  with  good  affections." 

#  *  *  * 

Miss  S&lgwick  to  Airs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

44  Slockbriclgc,  October  4,  1846. 

*  *  *  *  "The  last  week  has  been  a  deeply  shadowed 
one.  We  laid  our  good  friend  Von  Man  among  our  graves 
with  a  deep  feeling  of  thankfulness  that  his  spirit  was  un 
shackled,  and  that  honoring  hands,  and  those  whom  he  best 
loved  in  this  world,  did  the  last  offices  for  him.  His  feeling 
toward  your  father  was  worthy  both.  He  once  said  to  me, 
4 1  love,  Miss  Sedgwick,  to  see  you  come  in,  and  I  love  to  see 
Mrs.  Sedgwick  ;  but — you  must  excuse  me — I  love  most  of 
all  to  sec  your  brother ;  he  is  truly  an  angel  to  me.'  And 
so  he  was,  from  first  to  last,  from  morning  to  night,  provid 
ing  every  possible  comfort  for  him."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Safgwick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

"  Lenox,  November,  1846. 

***#•* Last  evening  I  was  apologizing  to  Mr.  Field 
for  playing  cards  in  his  presence,  and  said  I  hoped  he  was 
not  of  the  opinion  of  a  certain  gentleman  in  New  York,  who 
had  written  to  entreat  I  would  change  the  game  of  marbles 
(mentioned  in  my  little  tract  as,  of  course,  one  of  the  boys' 
plays)  to  kite,  because  marbles  were  immoral,  as  by  betting 
they  involved  an  appeal  to  God,  as  did  cutting  and  dealing 
cards,  it  being  all  regulated  by  the  interposition  of  Provi 
dence.  '  So,'  said  Mr.  Watts,  '  Is  cutting  wood,  especially 
Billy  Brogan's ;  for,  when  he  lifts  up  his  axe,  Heaven  only 
knows  where  it  will  strike  I'  " 


300  Life  of  Catharine  M. 


Miss  Settgwick  to  Mrs.  J£.  S.  Minot. 

44  Lenox,  December  6,  1846. 

*  *  *  *  «  j  have  been  very  busy  since  I  came  from  New 
York  making  additions  to  my  littk-est  book,*  and  now  they 
are  nearly  completed,  and  I  think  they  will  be,  in  rustic 
phrase,  an  aditition,  being,  in  fact,  once  and  a  half  more  than 
the  original  text,  and  more  attractive  than  that,  as  illustra 
tive  of  rules.  I  am  much  interested  in  the  success  of  the 
thing,  because  I  think  it  will  do  some  little  good  to  our  dis 
trict-school  children.  The  school  committee  in  New  York 
have  ordered  ten  or  twelve  hundred  for  distribution  in  the 
families  of  the  children."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Stdgioifk  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

44  Spring  Uank.t  Koslyn,  May  30, 1847. 

41  MY  DEAREST  KATE, — Do  you  wonder  where  I  am  ?  In 
the  guest-chamber  of  a  generous,  old-fashioned  house,  be 
hind  one  of  the  mossy  pillars  that  support  a  piazza  which 
surrounds  it,  in  front  of  *  Great  Neck  Bay,'  a  deep  cut  into 
Long  Island  from  the  Sound,  of  which,  and  its  ever-passing 
home-fleets,  there  is  a  distant  view,  with  a  terraced  garden 
descending  to  the  water  on  one  side,  and  a  pond  on  the 
other,  formed  from  the  springs  that  descend  from  steep  ac 
clivities,  with  a  little  strip  of  land  between  it  and  a  green 
ravine,  like  that  which  separates  the  Salisbury  Lakes,  along 
which  there  is  a  lovely  shaded  walk,  and  a  rural  bridge  to 
the  cottage  (orn6c)  of  the  daughter  of  my  host,  well-grown 
trees  hugging  the  old  house,  and  lovely  branches  of  light 
spring  foliage  floating  round  dark,  solid  pines.  Little  vil 
lages  in  the  distance,  with  all  pleasant  signs  of  habitancy. 
But  better  than  any  outdoor  life,  nobler  gifts  of  God  than 
hill-sides  and  their  rich  borderings  of  trees,  clear  streams, 

*  The  Morals  of  Manners.  f  The  residence  of  the  poet  Bryant, 


Lift  and  Letters.  301 

and  bays,  we  have  within,  and  delightfully  we  have  spent 
the  day,  though  it  has  been  cloudy  and  dripping."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Settgivicfc  to  Mrs.  JK.  S.  Minot. 

"Lenox,  September  19,  1847. 

****"!  have  heard  our  present  Methodist  ghostly 
'  father1  to-day  for  the  first  time,  and  I  regard  it  as  a  sign 
that  the  true  millennium  is  advancing  that  this  is  the  fourth 
pastor  that  we  have  had  at  this  church  who  has  so  much 
sound  sense  and  so  much  of  the  simplicity  of  the  Gospel 
that  a  few  doctrinal  errors  do  not  vitiate  it.  No  one  need 
be  very  zealous  about  the  promulgation  of  Unitarianism 
when  its  salt  is  sprinkled  throughout  other  creeds,  and  when, 
as  it  appears  to  me,  there  is  some  radical  defect  in  it,  or  in 
its  ministration,  that  prevents  its  general  diffusion.  As  we 
approach  another  world  its  horizon  enlarges,  and  the  bright 
ness  of  the  light  (perhaps  the  nature  of  it)  beyond  its  portal 
makes  that  behind  us  dim,  and  distinctions  and  badges  fade 
away,  and  we  only  see  the  general  movement  toward*  that 
great  portal  and  the  earnest  aim  to  ga?n  it. 

"  October  30/7*,  1847.  Does  AVilliam  read  to  you  the  de 
tails  of  our  Mexican  affairs,  Kendall's  letters,  etc.  ?  Princi 
pled  as  we  are  by  education,  and  all  the  habits  of  our  minds 
against  war,  and  disgusting  as  its  savagcncss  is,  I  feel  it  im 
possible  not  to  have  my  pulses  beat  quicker  at  the  valor,  in 
domitable  spirit,  skill,  and  hardihood  of  our  people.  If  there 
were  virtue  in  those  Mexicans,  if  there  were  any  hope  in 
their  political  existence,  the'rc  might  be  sympathy  for  their 
wrongs.  *  But  as  it  is,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  is  the  ordina 
tion  of  Heaven  that  this  stagnant,  putrefying  race  should 
give  place  to  the  fresh,  strong  current  that  is  settling  upon 
them.  The  achievement  of  our  men  in  planting  the  *  stars 

and  stripes'  on  the  fortress  of (I  can't  recall  the  name) 

will  advance  our  reputation  in  Europe  more  than  all  our 


302  JLife  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgivick. 

vast  progress  in  the  civil  arts.      But  it  won't  do  for  me  just 
now  to  condemn  the  vulgar  judgment," 

Afiss  Sedgwicfc  to  Jtev.  JDr.  J)ewey^  after  the  death  of  Afrs. 
Minof  s  tittle  chiltt. 

"  Lenox,  November  29,  1847. 

"  MY  DEAR  AND  TRUE  FRIEND, — Never  were  you  wanting 
in  sympathy  with  me  in  any  moment  of  my  trials,  nor  in  the 
expression  of  it  which,  coming  from  those  we  love,  is  com 
forting,  and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal  when  the  whole  being 
seems  dissolved  in  tears.  Neither  to  you  or  Mrs.  Dewey 
will  there  seem  to  be  any  exaggeration  in  this.  You  know 
what  space  a  child  may  fill — what  gladness  it  casts  over  the 
path  of  life — what  there  is  in  the  touch  of  its  hand — in  the 
beam  of  its  eye — in  that  little  form  in  which  such  joys,  and 
hopes,  and  loves  arc  centred.  My  darling  little  1'osy  !  She 
was  the  sweet  flower  whose  sweetness  I  felt  at  every  mo 
ment — a  fresh  fountain  where  so  many  springs  had  sunken 
away*.  I  remember  your  Louise  well.  I  remember  the  ex 
pression  of  her  soft  speaking  eye.  Such  lives  never — in  one 
sense — never  leave  us. 

"  K.  bears  her  grief  so  meekly,  so  unresistingly,  so  wisely 
as  to  be  an  unspeakable  consolation  to  us.  She  has,  with 
unqualified  faith,  resigned  her  precious  gift  to  better  teach 
ing,  better  guidance  than  hers  ;  and  while  her  eye  is  deprived 
of  the  loveliest  object  on  earth  to  her,  she  has  opened  her 
spiritual  eye  upon  an  angel.  The  little  child  has  been  an 
interpreter  of  God's  Word  to  W.  too — revealed  to  him  the 
mysteries  of  life,  and  death,  and  immortality — *  opened,'  as 
he  says,*  with  her  little  hands  the  ponderous  gates  of  Death.' 
Ah  !  my  friend,  death  is  the  solution — death  and  its  train  of 
infinite  hopes.11 


Lift  and  Letters.  303 

Miss  Sedgiuick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

14  Stockbridge,  December  25, 1847. 

"  MY  DEAREST  KATE, — I  can  only  think  of  you  this  Christ 
inas  morning,  and  my  heart  turns  sick  away  from  the  joys 
of  the  little  people  about  me — joys  it  never  before  refused 
to  enter  into.  I  have  been  to  Anne's,  but  I  could  not  bear 
it ;  but  one  image  was  before  me,  and  I  have  come  to  a  sol 
itary  room  where,  by  prayer  and  strong  effort,  I  may  see  our 
darling  in  her  spiritual  life,  where  she  has  nothing  of  child 
hood  but  its  innocence  and  its  beauty.  I  can  see  her  hov 
ering  over  her  parents,  and  calling  upon  you  to  look  up — to 
look  up  from  the  dark,  vacant  space  to  that  which  can  never 
be  darkened,  to  behold  in  the  brighter  but  transient  joys  of 
the  little  ones  about  you  a  faint  type  of  that  which  knows  no 
shadow.  Her  nature  was  too  intense  to  have  borne  patient 
ly  the  frettings  of  the  harness  of  this  life,  and  God  spoke 
and  burst  the  prison-gates.  The  Father  took  the  child  to 
his  own  presence.  The  more  I  compare  her  with  other 
children,  the  more  she  seems  to  me  like  a  fleet  messenger, 
sent  to  return  quickly  ;  and  while  I  can  keep  my  mind  to 
this,  I  feel,  my  dear  child,  that  you  have  enough  to  tranquil 
lize  you,  and  then  the  sight  of  a  plaything  brings  the  sense 
of  intolerable  loss." 

Miss  S&/gwic&  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

"  Lenox,  January  2,  1848. 

"  Your  letters,  my  darling,  were  never  more  welcome  to 
me,  and  yet  how  changed  from  the  uniform  sunny  aspect  of 
so  many  years.  I  read  them  over  and  over  again,  and  re 
lieve  my  heart  by  many  accumulated  tears  over  them.  As 
I  foresaw,  they  are  sadder  and  sadder  as  every  day  brings 
some  fresh  evidence  and  memorial  of  our  loss ;  for,  with  all 
the  mercies  and  hopes  that  have  attended  it,  heavy,  heart- 


304  Lift  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

sinking  loss  it  is.  I  never  wake  in  the  morning  now  with,- 
out  first  thinking  how  sweeter  than  the  sweetest  bird's  song 
was  the  sound  of  her  morning  tone  to  me  ;  and  when  I  wake 
in  the  night,  her  name  and  yours  are  on  my  lips.  Associa 
tions  with  her  here  have  revived  that  I  did  not  feel  before. 
I  see  her  sitting  on  the  door-step,  running  over  to  Cook's 
shop,  teasing  and  caressing  Jessie,  laughing  on  the  foot-board 
of  my  bedstead  ;  and  I  never  now  walk  up  the  hill  without 
thinking  of  our  parting  there  on  the  hill-side;  and,  indeed,  the 
old  coach  in  which  she  once  rode  only  speaks  to  me  of  her. 
Dear,  dear  Posy  1  She  can  never  be  absent  from  your  mind  ; 
she  is  inwrought  with  all  your  consciousness.  She  has  taken 
you  to  heaven  with  her,  I  sometimes  think.  Dear  Kate  and 
William,  I  can,  without  faltering,  wish  you  a  Happy  New* 
year,  for  I  believe,  as  you  have  entered  the  portals  of  this 
new  year,  it  has  been  with  eyes  lifted  to  God,  with  an  assur 
ance  of  a  happiness  not  dreamed  of  by  most  of  those  who 
exchange  the  frivolous  wishes  of  the  new  year — a  happiness 
more  compact,  more  elevated  as  time  flows  away  and  tem 
poral  things  dissolve.  Do  we  not,  in  moments  of  great  ex 
citement,  get  gleams  of  truth  that  do  not  dawn  upon  us  in 
the  common  states  of  the  mind?  I  do  not  know  how  much 
we  might  win  by  faith  from  the  spiritual  world,  but  I  do  know 
that  there  are  moments  when  there  seems  to  me  to  be  but  a 
thin  veil  between  me  and  the  beloved  who  are  there  ;  when 
their  eyes,  with  immortal  life  in  them,  are  upon  me;  their 
lips,  with  immortal  love,  speak  to  me ;  and  yet  from  this  I 
fall  back  to  doubt  and  fear.  *  *  *  *  Dear  Kate,  how  fresh 
ly  every  thing  of  last  year  has  been  brought  to  my  mind  as 
the  days  have  gone  on  in  sad  procession  ;  the  delight  I  took 
in  making  '  Posy's  Own  Book,'  more  pure  pleasure  than  in 
all  my  other  books ;  how  you  came  with  her  little  letter ! 
Ah  I  I  should  write  of  nothing  else  if  I  set  down  but  the 
thoughts  of  a  single  hour  of  her." 


JLife  and  Letters.  305 

Miss  Scttfftvick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

"  New  York,  March  26,  1848. 

*  *  *  *   "  Oh,  dear  Kate,  I  fear  I  shall  never  carry  out 
my   journaling    plan,  there  -  is    such    an   infinity   of  things 
happening  here.    I  breakfasted  at  Mrs.  F.'s,  then  came  home 
lo  Helen's  lesson,  which  I  do  if  I  do  nothing  else  ;  then  an 
audience  with  one  of  my  '  Home1  people  ;  then  a  very  nice 
Protestant  Irish  woman,  with  a  sad  tale  and  a  very  handsome 
starving  husband — she  a  godchild  of  Miss  Edgeworth,  with 
a  sort  of  circular  from  her — both  to  be  provided  for ;  action 
taken  thereupon.     L.  announced,  and  a  sad  talk  about  the 
loss  of  two  of  his  children.     He  told  me  the  last  words  Von 
Man  said  to  him  (and  said  them  with  a  '  joyful  laugh'), '  I 
am  sure  I  carry  to  heaven  with  me  the  memory  of  the  good 
1  have  known  here.'     Subscription  for  a  monument  for  Von 
M.  had  been  made  by  his  German  friends,  when  two  orphan 
girls,  daughters  of  a  good  minister,  arrived.      Some  friends 
of  Von  M.  suggested  that  lie  would  prefer  devoting  the  sub 
scription  for  his  monument  to  their  wants,  and  a  portion  was 
taken.     Was  not  that  a  touching  case  of  the  spirit  speaking 
from  the  ashes  ?     The   rest  of  the   morning  was  occupied 
with  visits." 

Miss  Sctigioick  to  Mrs,  A".  ,5.  Mittot, 

"  New  York,  April  7,  1848. 

*  *  *  *  ««  After  breakfast  this  morning  your  Aunt  .L.  was 
*  running1  your  father  about  his  present  mania.     She  main 
tained  that  all  his  affections  were   merged  in   the  French 
Revolution,  and  he  declared  that  if  he  heard  that  you  had  a 
pain  in  your  left  hand,  he  should  rush  to  Woodbourne  and 
forget  the  French  Revolution.     This  at  least  shows  his  esti 
mate  of  his  love  for  you,  but  don't  put  him  to  the  test,  my 
dear. 


306  Life  of  Cat/taring  M. 

"  Another  king  walked  off"!  I  propose  a  new  society  to 
institute  a  Home  for  Friendless  Kings.  Your  father  is  quite 
brilliant  this  morning.  You  know  Alison  wrote  a  eulogy  on 
Louis  Philippe.  Your  father  proposes  for  Punch  that  Louis 
P.  in  his  pea-jacket  and  fugitive  costume  should  peddle  Al 
ison's  History  about  London,  and  the  motto  should  be,  *  His 
tory  teaching  Philosophy  by  example/  *  *  *  * 

"  I  have  read  this  morning  Lamartine's  very  fine  speech 
to  the  Poles  and  to  the  Italians.  I  hope  you  see  all  these 
things.  It  is  something  to  live  while  such  history  is  enact 
ing.  I  don't  know  how  young  men  keep  themselves  steady. 
In  their  case  I  should  sail  by  the  first  ship  that  would  take 
me  to  the  scene  of  action.  Have  you  heard  that  2000  con 
stables  extra  to  be  sworn  in  at  Liverpool  balked  at  the  clause 
*  loyalty  to  the  queen  ?'  This  looks  stormy." 


Miss  St't/gwicA  to  Mrs,  A".  S.  Minof. 

"New  York,  May  21,  1848. 

"  I  do  not  think,  my  dear  Kate,  that  in  your  quiet,  refined 
home  you  can  have  any  idea  of  the  *  incessant'  life  of  New 
York,  of  the  crowding  and  stuffing  of  every  moment.  It  is 
now  just  ten,  and  I  have  come  up  from  the  City  Hall,  in 
whose  dismal  St.  Giles  precincts  I  have  been  to  see  a  colored 
ragged  school.  My  companion  stared  at  me  when  I  told  her 
I  should  get  into  the  cars  and  come  home  to  write  a  letter 
in  the  intervening  twenty  minutes  I  should  save  before 
church.  My  Sundays  are  not  days  of  rest.  I  wish  you 
would  recommend  to  those  enlightened  Dostonians  who  arc 
on  the  ultra  pinnacle,  and  wish  to  abrogate  the  restrictive 
institution  of  the  Sabbath,  to  take  a  walk  through  Anthony 
and  Orange  Streets,  etc.,  in  New  York,  and  see  it  virtually 
annulled,  all  the  shops  open,  and  apparently  no  recollection 
of  this  old  abuse  of  man's  precious  liberty.  *  *  *  *  The 
city  is  getting  to  be  intolerable.  I  have  yet  a  good  deal  of 


JLife  and  Letters,  307 

duly  to  do  in  our  Prison  Society,  and  for  the  last  month,  with 
the  exception  of  a  week  at  Lenox,  it  has  occupied  me  for 
three  days  in  the  week.  If  I  could  feel  sure  that  there  is 
any  service  done  in  proportion  to  the  trouble  and  time  spent, 
I  should  be  perfectly  satisfied.  I  think  the  favored  class  of 
society  owe  an  immense  debt  to  Providence,  which  can  only 
be  discharged  by  attempting  to  rescue  the  vicious  and  igno 
rant  from  misery  and  degradation.  But  it  seems  to  me  they 
must  be  saved,  and  can  not  be  rescued,  and  we  remain  as  if 
there  were  a  palsy  on  us.  With  the  means  of  universal  ed 
ucation  and  sustenance,  we  see  creatures  with  the  powers 
and  faculties  out  of  which  heroes  and  martyrs  have  been 
made,  covered  with  bruises  and  putrefying  sores.  My  whole 
soul  is  sickened ;  and  to-day,  when  I  went  into  our  church 
filled  with  people  in  their  fine  summer-clothes,  and  heard  a 
magnificent  sermon  from  Mr.  Dewcy,  and  thought  of  the 
streets  and  dens  through  which  I  had  just  walked,  I  could 
have  cried  out,  *  Why  arc  ye  here  ?'  Some  good  is  achieved 
— I  see  that — but  the  work  is  struggling  and  inefficient.  If 
the  sea  were  to  roll  over  the  adults  and  leave  the  children, 
we  could  devise  a  future,  perhaps  attain  it  for  them." 

Miss  Sedgivick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

••  May  27, 1848. 

*  *  *  *  «  i  trust  you  have  not,  as  we  have,  wasted  your 
time  on  *  that  little  family  in  Hell/  living  and  dying  at 
'Wuthering  Heights.'  It  is  a  most  signal  waste  of  talent. 
There  is  a  certain  resemblance  to  Jane  Eyre,  like  a  family 
look;  the  energy  of. thought  and  style,  the  Northern  mind 
as  well  as  air  that  breathes  through  it,  the  intimate  and  mas 
terly  acquaintance  with  a  location  and  coterie,  and  exclu 
sion  from  the  world,  the  remarkable  directness  of  style,  arc 
all  qualities  peculiar,  and  marvelously  like  Jane  Eyre,  so 
that  I  think  the  author  must  be  her  brother,  the  masculine 
of  her  masculine  mind. 


308  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Setfgwick. 

"  I  am  exceedingly  delighted  with  Dr.  Channing's  life. 
His  youth  was  the  fitting  prelude  and  precursor  of  his  ma 
turity.  There  was  more  of  the  prophetic  fire  than  I  should 
have  expected,  more  of  the  welding  heat  of  enthusiasm,  in 
which  the  souls  of  prophets  and  seers  are  fused  and  recast 
for  their  earthly  mission.  There  is  much  precious  leaven  in 
the  book — concentrated  essence  of  spirituality — which  I  ex 
pect  to  do  a  vast  deal  of  good  in  elevating  and  directing  re 
ligious  minds.  His  life  was  a  monastic  one  ;  but  in  this  '  in 
cessant*  age — this  period  of  all-doing,  amidst  this  ocean-life 
activity — we  want  calm,  deliberate  thought — a  fixed  star  by 
which  to  direct  the  course." 

Miss  Stntgwic&  to  Afrs.  A".  S.  Afinot. 

"New  York,  June  u,  1848. 

««**«!  have  been  busy  this  week  settling  up  con 
cerns,  and  looking  after  some  poor  creatures  who  are  poor 
enough  to  turn  to  me  for  help.  I  have  now  on  my  heart 
two  lovely  little  boys,  whom  I  hope  to  get  provided  with  a 
pleasant  summer  home  with  the  children  on  Randall's  Isl 
and — the  place  to  which  our  pauper  children  have  been  re 
moved,  and  where  they  have  it  all  to  themselves  ;  plenty  of 
grass  and  woodland,  and  large,  ventilated  dormitories,  and 
baths  big  enough  to  swim  in,  and  good  teachers,  and  plen 
ty  of  healthful  food.  The  tiny  things  have  each  a  rocking- 
chair  nicely  constructed,  so  that  they  do  not  tottle  out. 
This  supplies  pleasant  means  for  their  incessant  natures 
without  their  running  under  their  nurses1  feet,  and  thereby 
provoking  tempers  not  the  best  disciplined.  A  happier  set 
of  little  creatures  I  never  saw.  The  eldest  of  my  little  boys 
the  girls  think  like  our  dear  Posy.  I  do  not  see  it ;  but 
perhaps  it  is  this  that  draws  me  to  him. 

"  Forcsti  sailed  in  the  "  United  States"  yesterday.  He  has 
left  us,  as  he  believes,  forever.  He  hopes  to  assist  with  his 


Life  and  Letters.  309 

counsels  the  Milanese  government  —  to  bring  to  its  service 
his  eleven  years'  experience  of  the  working  of  a  republican 
government.  I  trust  the  Italians  will  turn  their  enthusiasm 
into  the  channel  of  reverence  for  this  man,  who  suffered  sev 
enteen  years  of  living  martyrdom  ;  but  it  is  so  much  the  way 
of  the  world  to  shove  aside  the  old,  and  give  to  the  young 
and  aspiring  all  the  prominent  and  active  places,  that  I 
doubt  if  he  is  permitted  to  do  all  the  good  he  hopes.  Few 
foreigners  have  been  so  much  respected  here.  His  bold, 
upright,  unflinching  integrity  has  given  a  new  impression  of 
Italian  character.  There  have  been  very  discriminating 
and  beautiful  eulogies  in  the  papers,  which  have  pleased 
him.  He  left  the  kindest  messages  for  you." 

Miss  Sedgtvifk  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

"  New  York,  June  18,  1848. 

*  *  *  *  «  Dearest  Kate,  every  hour  here  brings  its  press 
ing  duty,  and  baths  and  sweet  sleep  keep  the  machine  refit 
ted.  I  left  my  letter  Sunday  for  my  second  farewell  lecture 
with  my  *  Home'  people.  These  Sunday  afternoons,  in  which 
I  endeavor  to  mingle  some  social  pleasure  with  the  elements 
of  moral  teaching,  really  seem  to  be  an  enjoyment  to  these 
poor  creatures.  I  %vent  yesterday  up  to  Sing  Sing  as  one 
of  a  committee  of  the  Prison  Association,  but,  by  the  over 
turn  there,  and  the  putting  in  by  the  present  Whig  govern 
ment  of  a  new  set  of  officers,  our  visit  was  perfectly  useless." 


Miss  Sfr/gwu'k  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

••Lenox,  July  16,  iS+S. 

******  This  is  rather  an  unpropitious  scene  for  writ 
ing  for  one  so  unconcentrativc  as  I  am  —  S.  sitting  in  B.'s 
lap,  J.  on  the  floor  playing  with  the  kitten,  and  M.  D.  and 
J.  C.  scattered  about,  and  all  talking  ;  but,  if  I  live  to  my 
climacteric,  I  think  I  shall  learn  to  write  in  town-meeting 


3  1  o  JLifc  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

or  on  »i  barricade.  This  last  news  from  Paris  is  appalling. 
There  seems  to  be  nothing  for  France  between  the  wildest 
anarchy  and  a  military  despotism.  They  have  turned  hope 
into  despair.  To  keep  back  the  wave  of  popular  madness 
by  moderation  and  reason  is  as  hopeless  as  poor  Dame 
Fartington's  exploit  of  sweeping  out  the  sea.  The  French 
are  not  a  reasonable  people,  brave  and  impulsive  as  they  are. 
Theatrical  in  every  thing,  instead  of  making  the  theatre  rep 
resent  life,  they  turn  life  into  seeming,  and  deal  with  blood 
and  death  as  if  they  were  dramatic  pageants.  The  cool 
heads  of  the  Puritans,  and  their  repressed,  '  governed'  en 
thusiasm,  compared  with  Parisian  outbursts,  are  like  the 
forces  of  nature  directed  by  Providence  compared  to  the 
explosions  of  children.  Washington  and  Franklin  types  of 
the  one  race,  Lamartinc  and  Louis  Blanc  of  the  other  1  F. 
must  feel  intense  interest  in  his  French  friends.  I  sec  the. 
young  men  of  the  Polytechnic  were  fighting  in  one  of  the 
battalions,  so  I  suppose  poor  Madame  M.  has  had  her  cup 
of  horrors.  We  have  had  a  man  preaching  here  to  collect 
funds  to  send  missionaries  to  France,  and  institute  Sunday 
schools  in  the  streets  of  Paris!  As  sensible  as  sowing  vio 
let  seeds  under  the  torrent  of  Niagara.  Kate  says  there 
was  25  cents  contributed.  There  is  rporc  sense  in  Lenox 
than  I  imagined." 


.  Dr.  JZcffows  to  Miss  Sedgwick. 
"Mv  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  have  this  moment  risen  from  the 
reading  at  one  sitting  —  a  few  pages  last  evening  cxcepted  — 
of  the  '  Boy  of  Mount  Rhigi,'  and  it  is  with  wet  eyes  that  I 
hasten  to  thank  you  for  this  charming  work,  as  full  of  wis 
dom  as  of  genius,  of  love  as  truth,  of  piety  as  pure  and  solid 
morality.  I  feel  it  safer  to  have  children  —  who  may  not  al 
ways  have  even  a  father's  care  —  when  such  books  are  ex 
tant,  and  waiting  to  throw  their  mantle  of  purity  and  pro- 


Life  and  Letters.  311 

tection  over  them.  How  precious  is  this  talent  you  possess 
of  bringing  the  highest  and  holiest  truth  within  the  compre 
hension  of  the  humblest  and  feeblest  minds,  and  that,  too, 
without  taking  from  it  what  is  fitted  to  excite  the  admiration 
of  the  most  cultivated  and  enlarged  understanding,  the  mo'st 
fastidious  taste  !  I  can  not  doubt  that  at  this  moment  you 
are  one  of  the  most  efficient  missionaries  of  our  Lord  in  his 
great  vineyard  below — a  vineyard  how  choked,  how  calling 
for  diligent  and  competent  laborers  J  You  will  never  know 
how  much  good  you  arc  doing,  and  are  yet  to  do,  until  the 
great  day,  when  the  secrets  of  all  hearts  are  revealed  ;  but  I 
know  that  you  will  not  despise  the  testimony  of  any  sincere 
heart  to  your  eminent  usefulness.  I  feel  stronger,  happier, 
more  hopeful,  wiser,  this  weary  Monday  morning  for  the 
reading  and  taking  into  my  heart  this  delightful  and  heav 
enly  story,  and  you  will  not  be  sorry  for  this." 

Miss  Sctlgtvick  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Mutot. 

"  New  York,  January  27,  1849. 

#»»#««  Wc  jiaci  t|1G  first  high-school  opened  here  yes 
terday — a  very  fine  building,  where  the  best  scholars  from 
the  public  schools  are  to  receive  a  course  of  instruction  in 
the  highest  branches  of  education.  From  this  ceremony, 
which  was  fully  attended  in  the  large  hall  of  the  institution, 
and  at  which  you  may  be  sure  there  was '  nobody*  present 
(in  the  fashionable  acceptation  of  the  term),  I  plunged  into 

'  Vanity  Fair,1  and  went  to  Mrs. 's  reception.     She 

requested  on* of  her  friends  to  show  me  through  her  apart 
ments,  which  are  prettier  than  any  thing  I  have  seen  since 
we  left  Italy.  The  frescoes  are  done  beautifully  by  an  Ital 
ian  artist.  There  is  not  much  furniture,  but  all  there  is  is 
of  the  order  of  Madam  's  town  house — one  apart 
ment  in  Louis  Quatorze,  another  of  another  reign,  and  so 
on.  There  was  to  be  a  dinner-party,  and  a  circular  table 


312  Life  of  Catharine  At.  Settgivick. 

was  set  for  20  or  25.  It  was  covered  with  the  dessert,  and 
a  profusion  of  decoration,  epergnes,  plateaux,  girandoles, 
and  the  most  exquisite  natural  flowers  springing  up  here 
and  there,  as  if  a  genie  had  touched  every  vacant  place  with 
her  wand.  The  ware  was  gold  and  silver  plate  ;  the  plates 
of  the  most  exquisite  painted  china.  The  mistress  of  this 
Aladdin-palace,  whom  I  knew  a  slattern  at  17  (and  a  great 
heiress  then),  had  a  dress  on  so  defaced  that  you  could  not 
tell  whether  it  was  silk,  velvet,  or  tabby,  and  a  gap  behind 
showed  that  she  had  not  drawn  on  the  magic  lamp  for  a 
dressing-maid." 

Afiss  Sc'dgwick  to  Airs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

"New  York,  February  5, 1849. 

*  *  *  *  «  Mrs  Farnham,  the  celebrated  matron  of  the 
Sing  Sing  prison,  is  going  to  Boston  this  week  on  an  enter 
prise  which  her  circular  will  explain.  She  is,  of  all  women 
ever  created  (within  my  knowledge  of  God's  works),  the  fit 
test  for  the  enterprise.  She  has  nerves  to  explore  alone  the 
seven  circles  of  Dante's  Hell.  She  has  physical  strength 
and  endurance,  sound  sense  and  philanthropy,  earnestness, 
and  a  coolness  that  would  say  *  I  know  I'  if  an  angel  were 
sent  to  tell  her  the  secrets  of  the  upper  world.  Hers  is  an 
unprecedented  crusade  certainly,  but  in  this  stirring  of  the 
elements  new  combinations  must  be  expected.  She  may 
not  succeed  in  getting  her  company  ;  if  she  does,  she  will 
be  a  most  able  chieftainess  ;  and  it  seems  to  me  nothing 
better  can  be  done  for  the  chaotic  mass  at  9tin  Francisco 
than  to  infuse  into  it  the  leaven  of  130  intelligent  and  virtu 
ous  women.  No  better  missionaries  could  be  sent  there. 
You  will  see  Mrs.  Farnham,  and  hear  from  herself  her  plan. 
I  have  promised  her  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Minot,  who  I  know  will 
be  pleased  to  see  so  rare  a  specimen  of  womanhood,  and 
who,  if  any  body  can  in  Boston,  will  aid  her  by  suggestions 


Lift:  and  JLetters.  313 

as  lo  the  best  mode  of  action  in  that  vicinity,  and  any  light 
as  to  her  general  plan  Mrs.  F.  will  gladly  receive.  At  any 
rate,  Mrs.  M.  will  rightly  appreciate  this  singular  woman, 
and  give  her  a  patient  and  kind  hearing." 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Mrs.  J£.  S.  Minot  on  Mrs.  Kembtes  Shaks- 
pcare  Readings. 

44  New  York,  March  8, 1849. 
*  *  *  *  « rpjle  town — tjle  town  that  i  mingle  with — talks 

of  little  else,  and  there  seems  to  be  a  general  voice  of  satis 
faction  and  delight.  I  have  never  seen  such  assemblies  in 
New  York — the  fashionable  people,  the  old  people,  all  the 
known  clever  people,  the  pious  folk,  the  mourners •,  the  Quak 
ers.  People  study  Shakspeare  that  never  studied  him  be 
fore.  In  short,  there  seems  to  be  a  new  soul  in  a  lumpish 
world.  *  *  *  *  We  begin  now  to  talk  of  our  rising  star, 
dear  B.  I  feel  a  sort  of  warmth  coming  round  my  heart  as 
when  the  sky  kindles  after  a  cold,  dark  night ;  not  that  my 
winter  has  been  cold  or  dark,  for  that  which  is  my  chief 
happiness,  my  home,  has  been  unusually  pleasant — L.  so 
bright,  the  girls  all  so  loving  to  me,  and  your  aunt  so  happy 
and  so  kind,  and  dear  E.  growing  in  grace  every  hour  of  his 
life." 

Miss  Sedgwitk  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

44  New  York,  March  18,  1849. 

41  Mv  DEAREST  KATE,  —  I  expected  to  have  had  to  an 
nounce  to  you  B.'s  safe  arrival,  but  I  can  never  regret  a  pro 
longation  of  pleasure  to  you,  though  it  costs  me  privation, 
and  I  truly  never  do,  which  is  what  I  think  is  called  moth 
er's  love.  *  *  *  *  There  is  a  real,  hearty,  enlightened,  en 
thusiastic  admiration  of  her*  here.     One  old  lady,  sans  eyes, 
sans  teeth,  sans  every  thing  but  ears,  rose  after  a  morning, 
*  Mrs.  Kcmblc. 
O 


314  £ife  °f  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

and  said  she  wished  she  would  read  oftener  in  the  morning, 
for  she  could  not  come  over  from  Jersey  City  at  night  1  One 
lady  is  waked  by  a  bird  in  the  night,  and  finds  it  is  *  Philo 
mel'  in  the  atmosphere.  A  little  boy  who  did  not  wish  to 
go  (*  he  had  heard  Macready,  and  it  was  nothing  to  Uncle 
John's  reading')  heard  her,  and  said  that  she  '  did  read 
as  well  as  Uncle  John.'  A  worthy  friend  of  mine,  a  man 
of  business,  who  never  goes  to  the  theatre,  and  has  not  yet 
heard  her,  has  read  Shakspeare  in  bed  every  night  since  she 
has  been  here.  People  who  meant  '  to  go  to  "  The  Mer 
chant  of  Venice"  because  Desdemona  is  such  an  interesting 
character/  have  bought  Shakspeare,  and  probably  rectified 
their  notions." 

Miss  Setlgwick  to  Afrs.  A".  ,5".  Afi/tof, 

44  New  York,  March  24,  1849. 

***#««!  s]ian  be  grieved  if  you  permit  any  small  mat 
ter  to  interfere  with  your  going  to  M.'s  wedding.  We  strike 
in  one  of  the  golden  threads  that  make  the  history  of  hu 
man  life  when  we  are  present  at  this  great  circumstance.  I 
am  not  transcendental,  as  you  know,  but  it  seems  to  me  that 
where  there  is  a  true,  a  spiritual  friendship,  there  is  a  spirit 
ual  body  formed  by  a  delicate  distillation  from  the  events  of 
mutual  concernment,  and  that  whatever  we  feel  and  act  to 
gether  adds  to  the  vigor  and  beauty  of  that  body." 

Afiss  Setlgwick  to  Afrs.  A".  S.  Afi/iot. 

44  New  York,  April  8,  1849, 

*  *  *  *  "  Mrs.  Ware*  has  gone  from  a  ministry  of  gener 
ous  love  and  unwavering  fidelity  to  imperishable  riches — 
riches  that  no  scale  can  weigh.  An  angel  has  gone  from 
among  us — an  angel  who  taught  us  how  to  live  and  how  to 
die.  It  is  seldom  that  my  faith  rises  to  what  I  desire  to  be- 
*  Mrs.  Henry  Ware. 


Life  and  Letters.  3  1  5 

lieve,  but  I  do  believe  there  was,  in  the  last  scenes  of  her 
life,  a  direct  ministry  to  her  spirit  which  enabled  her,  like 
the  martyrs,  to  look  serenely  out  from  the  fires  that  con 
sumed  her  body." 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

"  New  York,  May  12,  1849. 

"  MY  DEAREST  KATE,  —  I  was  about  as  much  surprised  to 
got  the  news  of  the  great  event  as  if  I  had  never  expected 
it.  L.  and  I,  on  getting  out  of  the  omnibus  on  our  return, 
were  met  by  K.  and  M.  W.,  and,  before  we  reached  our  own 
door,  were  joined  by  half  a  dozen  more  of  the  i6th  Street-. 
ers,  and  incidentally,  before  we  reached  home,  *  Kate's  boy* 
was  mentioned.  I  jumped  like  a  man  shot  (the  most  natu 
ral  illustration  just  now*),  and  have  ever  since  had  a  downy, 
soft  feeling  at  my  heart,  and  something  very  like  a  continual 
cloud  of  incense  of  joy  and  gratitude  rising  from  it." 


Miss  St'ttgwifA  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

"  Highland  Gardens,  October  13,  1849. 

"  MY  DEAR  KATE,  —  I  meant  to  have  journalized  my  visit 
here  for  you,  but,  as  usual,  I  am  behindhand.  S.  and  I  came 
up  in  the  heavy  rain  on  Monday,  and  found  Mr.  Downing 
awaiting  us  on  the  wharf,  in  defiance  of  the  cats  and  dogs 
it  was  raining  about  him.  When  we  arrived,  Miss  Bremer 
(who  had  already  been  to  a  morning  wedding)  was  in  her 
room.  She  has  wisely  stipulated  that  her  mornings  arc  to 
be  sacred,  and  will  probably  thereby  save  herself  from  being 
sent  to  a  mad-house  by  American  hospitality.  Lafayette's 
heroic  humanity  and  French  blood  saved  him  j  but  poor  Miss 
Bremer,  of  the  nature  of  the  sensitive  plant,  or  a  lily  of  the 
valley,  that  would  hide  herself  under  a  green  leaf  (and  could, 
she  is  so  small),  how  could  she  resist  a  twelve-hours1  siege 

*  This  was  the  day  following  the  Astor  Place  Riot,  in  New  York. 


3 1 6  -Lift:  of  Catharine  Af.  Scdgwiffs. 

from  the  'incessant'  Yankee  nation  ?    She  came  down  at  the 
dinner-hour,  a  little  lady  about  G.  A.'s  height,  slightly  made, 
with  the  most  lovely  little  hands,  a  very  florid  complexion 
(especially  of  the  nose) — florid,  but  very  pure  and  fair,  and 
far  from  giving  any  idea  of  coarseness.      Hes   hair  is  some 
what  grayed,  parted  with  that  ugly  square  bit    m  the  top  of 
the  head,  and  her  cap  is  of  that  fashion  univ     sal  some  ten 
years  ago,  of  the  shape  of  a  pocket-handkerchief  turned 
back.     She  wears  a  gray  gown  and  a  black  watered  silk 
mantilla.     So  she  comes  to  breakfast,  so  to  dinner,  and  so 
she  appears  in  the  evening.     Her  eye  is  a  clear  blue,  I  say  ; 
greenish,  S.  says.     Her  mouth  is  very  like  Longfellow's  ;  in 
deed,  she  looks  about  equally  like  him  and  like  Maroncelli, 
and  might  be  the  sister  of  either.     But  neither  of  them  have 
the  modesty,  the  delicate  recognition  of  every  shade  of  feel 
ing,  and  the  most  sweet  gentleness  that  characterizes  her. 
She  uses  our  language  with  accuracy  and  even  elegance,  but 
her  accent  is  so  strong  and  her  intonation  so  curious  that  it 
is  not  easy  to  understand  her.      Her  voice  is  one  of  the 
sweetest  I  have  ever  heard — one  of  those  soul  instruments 
that  seem  to  be  a  true  spiritual  organ.     She  is  simple  and 
sincere  as  a  cWld  in  all  her  ways;  much,  tell  Mrs.  Minot, 
such  a  person  ui  Miss  Hannah  Adams  might  have  been  if 
she  had  been  a  writer  of  romances  instead  of  Jewish  geneal 
ogies,  and  the  familiar  friend  of  royal  ladies — that  is,  very 
slightly  conventional,  not  at  all  rustic,  but  with  all  the  heav 
enly  qualities  that,  under  the  type  of  childhood,  mark  those 
who  are  of  the  kingdom  of  Heaven.     The  first  evening  she 
played  us  Swedish  airs  and  taught  us  Swedish  jigs.     She  is 
much  inclined  to  <spiritualit6'  (I  wish  I  could  give  the  word 
with  her  prolonged  accent)  in  literature,  and  I  believe  that 
the  people  she  will  most  affect  here  will  be  the  Transcen- 
dentals.     But  she  is  not  like  them,  foggy,  but  has, '  au  fonds/ 
a  sound,  rocky  foundation,  and  clear  atmosphere  of  good 
sense. 


Life  and  Letters.  317 

"  We  had  yesterday  to  dine  with  us  Professor  Bergfalk,  a 
Swedish  gentleman, '  a  most  richc  man,1  Miss  Bremer  says,  in 
a  higher  sense  of  riches  than  any  Yankee  dreams  of.  He  is 
employed  by  the  King  of  S\vedcn  to  digest  a  code  of  laws, 
and  has  come  here,  I  suppose,  to  observe  the  working  of 
ours. 

"Tucst?ay,l\ Af.  Dear  Kate,  we  went  on  to  the  mountain  in 
four  carriages,  wagons,  etc.  Downing,  Miss  Bremer,  and  my 
self  in  one.  I,  as  usual,  walked  up  and  walked  down.  It  is 
a  glorious  view  to  see  from  the  South  Beacon  ;  but  I  have 
no  time  now  for  descriptions  of  out-of-door  things.  We  had 
capon  and  Champagne,  and  all  manner  of  merry  things  said 
and  done.  In  the  evening  arrived  W.  R.  and  B.  to  attend 
S.  home  (I  go  in  single  majesty  1).  And  this  morning  cattle 
charming  C.  K.  and  took  me  a  long  drive,  during  which  we 
talked  from  earth  to  heaven.  And  then  I  sat  to  Miss  Bremer, 
who  makes  capital  water-colored  sketches,  and  then  we  ate 
dinner,  and  had  not  all '  truths  and  roots?  but  sound  English 
dishes,  and  such  flowers  and  fruits  as  have  rarely  been  seen 
out  of  Paradise.  And  since,  I  have  given  Miss  Bremer  an 
other  sitting,  and  here  it  is  twilight.  I  like  her  more  and 
more,  and,  as  the  soul  comes  out  and  overspreads  the  feat 
ures  with  its  beaming  and  beautiful  light,  I  am  ashamed  to 
have  called  her  *  plain.1  She  has  tones  of  voice  so  full  of  hu 
manity  and  of  experienced  suffering  that  they  almost  bring 
tears  to  your  eyes. 

"  I  think  she  has  some  expectations  that  will  be  disap 
pointed.  She  expects  a  more  distinct  individuality,  a  devel 
opment  of  originality  unmouldecl  by  precedents  or  imita 
tions,  or  Old  World  conventionalities,  that  she  will  not  find 
in  a  country  saturated  with  canals  and  penetrated  by  rail 
roads.  There  is  a  dignified,  calm  good  sense  about  her, 
with  a  most  lovely  gentleness  and  spirituality.  She  occa 
sionally  tells  us  pleasant  stories,  as  of  a  poor  lady  whose 


3 1 8  JLife  of  Catharine  J\f.  Sedgwick. 

husband  often  beat  her.  She  one  day  took  up  a  horse-shoe 
lying  on  the  floor,  and  straightened  it  with  her  hands.  Her 
husband  was  amazed.  She  said,  *  This  force  is  a  gift  in  my 
family.1  'And  possessing  it,'  said  the  husband,  *  you  have 
suffered  me  to  beat  you.'  'Yes,  it  was  my  duty  not  to  re 
sist.'  He  never  beat  her  afterward." 

Jlft'ss  Scdgwick  to  Afrs.  Channing. 

"Lenox,  October  21,  1849. 

******  Your  anxiety  about  my  health  is  just  now  quite 
.groundless.  I  was  rather  run  down  during  the  summer, 
partly  from  the  heat,  and  partly  from  a  superannuatecf  devo 
tion  to  my  little  grand-niece.  This  I  keep  a  profound  se- 
cffet,  and  let  the  world  think  it  had  a  more  dignified  cause. 
I  sometimes  get  a  little  wearied  in  town,  and  often  heart 
sick,  but  I  believe  that  the  little  charity  work  1  do  is  con 
servative  in  its  tendency.  It  takes  me  out  of  doors,  and  is 
solacing  to  the  heart,  after  the  heavy  disappointments,  and 
amidst  the  wearing,  small  trials  of  life.  Dear  Susan,  while 
I  fully  realize  the  shortness  of  life,  and  do  sometimes  ar 
dently  desire  to  do  two  days'  work  in  one,  I  feel  its  value 
more  than  1  ever  did,  and  take  far  more  pains  to  nourish  it 
than  when  I  was  younger  and  happier,  and  it  seemed  fairer. 
The  transition  from  *  beauty  to  cluty,'  if  it  takes  from  its 
loveliness,  gives  it  an  infinite  value.  But  again,  my  dear 
Susan,  thanks  for  your  kind  consideration,  and  believe  me, 
whenever  I  am  inclined  .to  any  imprudence,  I  will  think  of 
your  counsel.  It  is  Sunday,  and  nothing  can  be  more  pro 
found  than  the  stillness  that  reigns  here.  It  is  our  Sabbath 
too — vacation — and  the  one  fly  that  is  buzzing  about  me  in 
the  warm  atmosphere  of  my  little  room  is  a  type  of  the 
change  that  has  taken  place,  and  of  my  solitude.  The  sum 
mer  visitors  are  all  gone.  *  *  *  *  The  children  are  all  gone 
home,  the  family  gone  to  church,  and  the  stillness  is  start 
ling." 


Life  and  Letters.  319 


Miss  Scdgwick  to  Mrs.  Kt  S.  Minot. 

"Stockbridgc,  November  25,  1849. 

#  *  «  *  «  \yc  j,aci  a  clieerful  evening  at  H 's,  where  we 

had  a  general  family  gathering.  They  have  hung  some  very 
pretty  cotton  curtains  in  their  little  parlor,  have  bright  piano 
and  table  covers,  and  every  thing  there,  under  H 's  re 
gime,  wears  a  cheerful  aspect.  H is  one  of  the  heroines 

of  cvery-day  life,  bearing  multiplied  and  exasperating  evils 
without  dejection  or  complaint,  supporting  mortifying  cir 
cumstances  without  humiliation,  and  the  general  cares  of 
labor  and  poverty  with  dignity  and  uniform  cheerfulness. 
Such  people  pass  along  almost  unnoticed,  unpraised,  but 
'  they  have  their  reward' — as  large  a  heaven  here  as  their 
spirits  can  travel  over,  and  a  certain  heaven  hereafter.  The 
great  event  of  the  past  week  has  been  the  visit  of  the  little 
female  apostle  of  Abolitionism — Lucy  Stone.  Your  mother, 
doubtless,  will  give  you  all  the  particulars  of  the  Lenox  pro 
tracted  meeting,  of  the  Burleigh  of  the  true  Balfour  school 
who  lectured  to  us  there.  The  female  impersonation  of  re 
form  came  here  ;  your  Aunt  Susan  kindly  invited  her  to  her 
house,  and  we  had  great  pleasure  from  her.  She  dcss  not 
look  older  than  you  do — three  or  four-and-twenty  1— »-she  is 
thirty-one.  She  is  a  person  of  rare  gifts,  with  a  good  New 
England  education  for  a  ground-work,  and  a  collegiate 
course  at  the  Oberlin  Institution  of  four  years,  where  the 
clever  girls — good  Grecians — found  out  that  Paul — :as  such 
a  generous,  courteous  spirit  should  be — was  a  'woman's 
rights  man  !'  where  they  ascertained  that  he  only  forbade 
them  to  gabble,  not  to  talk  in  the  churches,  etc.  She  has 
one  of  the  very  sweetest  voices  I  ever  heard,  a  readiness  of 
speech  and  grace  that  furnish  the  external  qualifications  of 
an  orator  (a  lovely  countenance,  too),  and  the  intensity,  en 
tire  forgetful  ness,  and  divine  calmness  that  fit  her  to  speak 


320  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

in  the  great  cause  she  has  undertaken.  S{ie  has  some  of 
the  slang  words  and  slang  phrases  of  her  clique  ;  but  if  she 
could  have  your  Aunt  Susan  to  travel  with  her,  and  be  as  do 
cile  to  her  wise  hints  as  she  was  here,  the  ministry  would  be 
quite  perfect." 

Mis s  Sedgwick  fo  Mrs.  A'.  ,S.  Mi/iot. 

"  New  York,  January  23,  1850. 

******  I  have  just  come  from ;  Cousin 

opened  the  door  for  me  with  a  smiling  face  that  answered 
all  questions.  Hope  catches  fire  like  a  pine-knot,  and  burns 
as  briskly.  The  doctor  says  if  nothing  goes  wrong  she  will 
be  out  of  danger  in  forty-eight  hours.  I  called  to  see  Miss 
Robbins  on  my  way  home.  She  lamented  her  brother's 
death  with  the  eloquence  of  an  old  Hebrew.  If  your  eyes 
were  shut,  you  might  have  fancied  that  it  was  a  supplement 
al  chapter  of  Job.  It  was  a  holy  rhapsody  on  life  and  death. 
I  thought  I  should  have  remembered  some  of  it,  but  I  might 
as  well  have  caught  a  pitcher  of  water  from  the  Falls  of  Ni 
agara — its  force  carried  it  away. 

"This  is  Tuesday,  and,  as  it  is  a  peerless  day,  I  suppose 
we  shall  have  lots  of  visitors ;  but,  as  my  gown  is  ragged,  I 
shelter  myself  under  the  apology  of  a  cold,  and  stay  in  my 
'room. 

"4  before  4,  You  may  laugh  at  my  arrangements.    At  two 

o'clock sent  for  me  to  come  down  and  see  — 

,  who  was  looking  very  sweet  and  bright ;  then  ap 
peared  Mrs. and .  has  turned  her 

back  on  the  world  since  her  engagement.  Then  Mrs. 
,  like  a  bed  of  brick -colored  poppies  or  red  holly 
hocks  ;  then and ,  charming  always ;  then  Mrs. 

,  and ,  and ,  all  three  in  the  luxe  style, 

as  Fran9ois  used  to  call  it — madame  with  the  finest  lace  of 
Parts,  and  the  girls  the  finest  velvet  of  Genoa.  Then 


Life  and  Letters.  321 

•,  all  ermine,  and  Mrs. ,  all  nature  and 

common  sense,  much  more  costly  articles,  if  goods  go  by 

rareness.     Then  the  Misses  ,  one  almost  a  beauty, 

and  Mrs. ,  with  sables  half  a  yard  deep.     Excuse  me, 

my  darling,  for  these  sottises,  I  know  they  are  so,  that  is 
something ;  but  what  can  one  do  with  clothes  ?  people  but 
inventory  their  clothes. was  here  too,  look 
ing  good,  but  rather  rustical.  I  don't  know  what  it  is  with 
our  people — they  are  too  conventional  for  nature,  and  not 
enough  so  for  art.11 

Miss  Setlgivick  to  Mrs,  K.  S.  Minot. 

"New  York,  February  18,  1850. 

"  MY  DEAREST  KATE, — I  have  just  finished  reading  Wil 
liam  Jay's  noble  article  on  Clay's  resolutions,  and  my  hands 
are  as  cold  as  ice.  The  blood  has  curdled  in  my  heart.  I 
thank  God  for  the  clear  intelligence,  the  pure  heart  that  com 
prehends  clearly  and  states  definitely  the  truth.  I  always 
distrusted  Clay's  compromises.  That  word  compromise  has 
a  bad  savor  when  truth  and  right  are  in  question.  Do  get 
William  to  read  the  article  to  you.  The  print  is  too  bad  for 
your  eyes.  (I  forgot  mine  while  I  was  reading  it.)" 

Miss  Sedgivick  to  Mrs.  JK.  S.  Minot. 

44  May  25, 1850. 

"  DEAREST   KATE, — What  blessings   letters    arc !      This 
wretched  weather,  the  continuance  of  the  east  wind,  that 
house  in  the  mud,*  and  your  father,  have  filled  my  atmos 
phere  with  blue  devils,  and  I  came  up  from  breakfast  beg 
ging  Margaret  to  kindle  a  fire  in  my  grate   and  disperse 
them,  if  possible.     I  had  just  settled  myself  at  my  table  with 
notes  to  write  to  the  Governor  of  the  Almshouse,  petitions 
to  the  public,  notes  of  request  and  notes  of  thanks,  when  up 
*  See  next  page. 
O  2 


322  JLjfe  of  Cathanne  JkT.  Scdgwick. 

comes  Nancy  with  a  very  nice  note  from  '  a  merchant,'  with 
two  $50  notes  for  the  House  of  Industry  and  for  *  the  Home.' 
This  was  rather  charming ;  and  then  dear  Nancy  again 
with  a  most  cheerful  letter  from  your  father,  with  your  de 
lightful  letter,  and  a  note  from  William  announcing  a  rush 
of  population  in  the  circle  of  our  friends.  I  passed  yester 
day  on  Blackwell's  Island,  and  had  forgotten  that  there  were 
any  but  low-browed,  ophthalmic, blotchy  people  in  the  world. 
"  Mercy,  how  it  pours  1  I  wonder  now  that  I  ever  before 
cared  when  it  rained ;  but  the  vision  of  that  wretched  house  !* 
If  your  father  keeps  up  his  spirits  through  this,  I  shall  think 
they  are  water-proof,  trial-proof,  proof  against  all  sublunary 
evils — of  heavenly  temper,  as  I  have  always  thought  them." 

Miss  Sctigwick  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

"  New  York,  June  3,  1850. 

*'  Mv  DEAREST  KATE, — I  always  feel  as  if  it  were  a  bad 
omen  when  Sunday  passes  over  without  my  writing  to  you. 
But  either  I  am  getting  shiftless,  or  I  have  each  week  more 
and  more  to  do.  I  have  just  come  from  the  House  of  In 
dustry,  from  the  infinite  complicity  of  paying  committees, 
purchasing  committees,  examining  do.,  reference  do.,  receiv 
ing  do.,  cutting  do.,  etc.,  etc.  I  received  about  two  hundred 
registered  names,  etc.,  poor  women  eagerly  seeking  the  boon 
of  fifty  cents'  worth  of  work,  upon  which,  by  their  account,  a 
sick  husband  and  any  number  of  orphan  children  arc  to  be 
supported.  The  best  of  it  all  is  to  sec  the  ladies  whose 
splendid  equipages  stand  at  the  door  in  close  contact  with 
these  exuberant  daughters  of  Erin,  earnestly  devoting  them 
selves  to  the  relief  of  their  wants.  It  will  be  a  noble  insti 
tution  ;  at  present  it  is,  of  course,  crude  and  defective. 

"  I  passed  last  week  most  delightfully,  making  a  country 

*  Mr.  Charles  Scdgwick's  house,  which  was  just  moving  from  its  orig' 
iiuil  situation  to  a  spot  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant. 


Life  and  Letters.  323 

holiday  of  it  from  Monday  till  Saturday.  Mrs.  L.  came  for 
me  on  Tuesday.  Wednesday  we  passed  the  day  driving  to 
the  High  Bridge,  which,  now  that  the  Harlem  River  is  brim 
ming,  the  rubbish  removed,  the  fresh  woods  and  dark  pines 
lighted  up  with  dogwood,  whose  soft  blossoms  are  like  con 
densed  moonlight,  is  most  beautiful.  I  hope,  before  I  die,  to 
show  you  how  lovely  this  island  is — before  I  die,  and  before 
all  Ireland  has  rained  shanties  upon  it.  Much  as  you  have 
been  in  the  city,  I  believe  you  are  unacquainted  with  its  sur 
roundings  ;  the  suburban  neighborhood  is  ruined,  but  the 
upper  part  of  the  island  is  not  yet  spoiled  of  the  beauty  its 
Maker  endowed  it  with  when  he  set  it  amidst  its  waters  a 
young  sovereign.  The  worst  of  it  is,  that  just  in  proportion 
to  the  increase  of  its  power  is  the  diminution  of  its  beauty. 
Mrs.  L.  has  a  very  pleasant  society  in  her  neighborhood ; 
people  who  are  not  philosophers  or  literati,  but  who  have 
immense  wealth  and  rural  tastes  ;  are  naturally  kind  and 
social ;  live,  some  of  them,  in  patrimonial  houses,  and  some 
of  them  in  palaces  of  recent  structure,  with  all  the  means 
and  appliances  of  modern  art.  I  will  tell  you  all  about  my 
delightful  visit  when  we  meet,  which,  thank  God,  I  hope  will 
be  soon,  for  to  me,  Kate,  the  '  world  and  the  glory  thereof 
are  naught  to  sweet  Woodbournc  and  its  inmates.'1 

M/ss  Sct/gwick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

"  Lenox,  January  6,  1851. 

******  j  (Qok  Up  Diivy's  Salmonia  the  clay  of  your  fa 
ther's  illness  ;  if  you  and  William  have  not  read  it,  do. 
There  maybe  a  little  too  much  description  of  the  trout-fish 
ing,  as  that  is  not  William's  particular  hobby,  but  the  acute 
and  delicate  perception  of  natural  beauty  and  life,  charac 
teristic  of  a  refined  sportsman,  and  the  occasional  exquisite 
touches  of  philosophy  and  religion,  make  it  an  enchanting 
book.  Your  father  read  us  aloud  last  evening  some  of  Boc- 


324  £{fe  °f  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

caccio's  tales  from  a  translation  G.  brought  home.  The 
translation  is  a  paltry  one,  but  when  you  consider  that  these 
tales  marked  the  age  in  which  they  were  written,  it  seems  to 
me  no  species  of  manufacture  has  made  greater  progress 
than  story-writing.  Compare  these  tales  of  love,  intrigue, 
cuckoldry,  and  death  to  the  Scarlet  Letter,  composed  of  the 
same  raw  material,  for  these  are  the  elements  of  the  social 
compact !" 

Miss  SeJgwict:  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

"Lenox,  March  2,  1851. 

"  MY  DEAREST  KATE, — Many  thanks  for  your  letter.  Wil 
liam  goes  to-morrow,  and  will  take  a  basket  for  you,  with  a 
few  eggs  (which  I  hope  will  remain  hermetically  sealed),  and 
a  portion  of  the  fresh  marmalade  I  have  just  made  from 
some  splendid  Seville  oranges,  and  I  hope  that  you  and  Wil 
liam  will  enjoy  it.  You  had  better  take  it  out  of  the  jar 
and  put  it  in  small  containers,  it  keeps  so  much  better. 
Your  mother,  I  presume,  has  communicated  the  satisfactory 
result  of  Dr.  Parker's  examination.  It  is  a  great  comfort  to 
have  the  opinion  of  a  man  whose  science,  sagacity,  and  intel 
ligence  you  feel  confident  of,  especially  when  his  opinion 
concurs  with  all  your  own  observation.  I  have,  for  a  consid 
erable  time,  felt  sure  that  your  father's  chief  trouble  was  his 
stomach ;  but  a  lay  opinion  is  good  for  nothing,  especially 
lay-feminine,  till  sanctioned  by  a  medical  one.  You  must,  as 
your  Aunt  Jane  says,  pay  five  dollars  for  what  you  knew  be 
fore,  and  then  the  knowledge  becomes  effective.  Dyspepsia 
is  bad  enough,  and  you  may  think  it  no  great  matter  of  grat- 
ulation  to  have  found  out  that  this  is  the  trouble.  But  your 
father  has  uncommon  digestive  powers,  and  a  blessed  tend 
ency  to  a  healthy  reaction ;  and,  since  he  has  given  up  the 
idea  that  mince  pies  and  buckwheat  cakes  must  now  be 
harmless  because  they  once  were  so,  he  has  been  gaining ; 


Life  and  Letters.  325 

and  since  he  has  confined  himself — and  he  now  does  most 
resolutely  and  patiently,  and  apparently  without  a  disobe 
dient  desire — to  a  strict  regimen  of  meat  and  breadstuff,  his 
complexion  has  changed,  and  every  thing  has  gone  compara 
tively  well.  He  occasionally  has  a  pink  tinge,  a  healthy 
hue,  and  the  yellow  has  nearly  gone.  To-morrow  will  be 
fifteen  days  since  the  last  attack.  He  goes  four  or  five 
times,  for  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  at  a  time,  on  to  my  piaz 
za,  and  he  now  walks  there  with  a  cheerful,  quick  step.  Oh, 
dear  Kate,  you,  who  have  not  seen  us  through  the  long  dis 
couragements  of  this  sad  winter,  can  hardly  imagine  what  a 
difference  a  little  light  has  made.  I  should  think  it  wrong, 
in  almost  any  case,  to  cling  with  such  tenacious  desires  to 
a  life  protracted  to  its  6oth  year ;  but  your  father's  life  is 
such  a  blessing  1  He  is  God's  missionary  to  the  poor  and 
desolate,  and  to  those  catted  happy. 

"March  8,  1851.  The  final  decision  is  to  send  out  a  ship 
for  Kossuth.  I  do  not  know  how  an  act  so  disinterested,  so 
suited  to  a  model  republic,  has  been  carried  by  the  same  set 
of  men  who  last  year  enacted  a  law  for  hunting  down  fugi 
tives  for  freedom.  Do  not  the  angels  laugh  as  well  as  cry 
over  us  ?  Certainly  the  inconsistencies  of  human  action 
must  make  them  either  laugh  or  cry,  and,  as  I  believe  healthy 
natures  are  most  disposed  to  the  agreeable  emotions,  I  be 
lieve  they  laugh.'1 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Afrs.  JC.  S.  Minot. 

"Lenox,  March  16,  1851. 

******  Last  evening  we  were  agreeably  surprised  by 
a  visit  from  R.*  St.  Patrick's  Day  occurring  to-morrow, 
the  saint  demands  a  general  suspension  of  labor,  and,  like 
a  boy  coming  to  his  home  in  a  holiday,  he  has  come  to  us. 
We  certainly  have  had  great  happiness  from  exiles.  R.  is 
*  A  Hungarian  exile. 


326  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

a  most  charming  fellow.  *  *  *  *  The  education  of  a  gen 
tleman  and  a  soldier  implants  its  own  vices,  I  have  no  doubt ; 
but  it  is  refreshing  now  and  then  to  see  a  man  who  has 
grown  up  without  the  competitions,  the  selfishness,  the  base 
money  element  of  business  life,  in  whom  you  see  Nature's 
material  expanding  without  a  thin  and  tarnishing  plating. 
R.  has  had,  while  his  enthusiasm  was  fresh,  full  of  hope, 
and  courage,  and  faith,  an  experience  of  a  struggle  in  which 
life  was  counted  as  nothing  against  national  independence. 
He  has  acted  from  and  for  thought ;  seen  for  it,  read  for  it, 
and,  having  acted,  seen,  and  read  much  and  variously  while 
he  is  in  the  fervor  of  youth,  he  is  rather  a  contrast  to  Squire 
T.,  who  is  at  this  moment  sitting  i>ts-il-i>is  to  him.  He  is  a 
good,  generous,  affectionate  fellow  too,  with  eminent  good 
sense,  and  just  as  much  socialism  as  belongs  to  a  well-de 
veloped  Christian." 

Afiss  Sedgivick  to  Mrs,  A'.  S.  Afiuot. 

•'Lenox,  March  23,  1851. 

*  *  *  *  « \yc  jmci  onc  Of  Betty's*  Sunday  visits  yester 
day,  and,  as  she  sat  in  the  little  parlor,  amusing  us  with  her 
dramatic  gossip,  she  fell  upon  an  'old  nigger1  (her  own  des 
ignation),  onc  Frank  Francis,  who  lives  in  the  old  halfway 
house  to  S.     You  may  remember  observing  his  illustration 
of  domestic  economy  ;  how,  last  winter,  he  enlarged  his  pig 
pen  into  a  dwelling-house,  and  used  the  former  habitation 
as  a  wood-pile.     He  lives  alone  apparently,  but  he  says  '  in 
the  best  of  company  —  with  his  Lord.'     I  repeated  this  to 
Betty.     '  Ha  !'  she  says, '  it's  he  with  the  cloven  foot,  I  guess, 
and  why  the  old  Harry  don't  take  him  off  nobody  can  tell !' 

*  The  daughter  of  Mumhct,  the  admirable  and  devoted  ncgrcss  men 
tioned  in  the  "  Recollections."     Mumbct's  only  weakness  was  spoiling 
her  own  children,  and  Hetty  grew  up  a  shiftless  creature,  a  mere  pen 
sioner  upon  the  family  in  which  her  mother  had  been  a  trusted  friend. 


Life  and  Letters.  327 

'Why,  Betty  I1  'Why,  Miss  Catharine,  did  you  never  hear 
that  he  has  killed  three  wives  and  burnt  up  one — Mary  ? 

Mary  came  over  here  and  borrowed  a  rope  of  Mr. , 

and  he  said,  "  Mary,  I  charge  you  to  return  that,'1  and  she 
said,  "  I  will,  sir,  dead  or  alive/1  Well,  the  next  news,  folks 
said  Mary  was  burned  to  death,  and  buried  in  the  Washing 
ton  Woods.  Mr.  was  riding  out  one  day,  and  he 

saw  a  woman  coming  along  with  a  rope  over  her  arm,  and  he 
up  and  says,  "  Why,  that's  Mary,  as  sure  as  life !"  and  so  it 
was  ;  and  she  stopped  him,  and,  says  she,  "  I  told  you,  dead 
or  alive,  I  would  return  your  rope,  and  here  it  is."  And 
he  took  it  and  put  it  in  his  shay-box,  and  then  she  show 
ed  him  all  down  one  side  where  she  was  burned,  and  told 
him  if  he  did  not  make  the  case  known  and  get  justice  done, 
he  too  would  be  burned  to  death  I  and  so  he  was.  There, 
you  may  see  her  grave  now — open  yet ;  he  tilled  it,  and  fill 
ed,  and  filled,  and  as  fast  as  he  filled  it  opened  ;  and  Miss 
Bradley  will  tell  you  that  when  he  is  working  in  her  garden — 
he  is  a  nice  hand  there — she'll  hear  him  say,"  Let  me  alone  I'1 
and  he'll  jump  over  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  and  so  he 
keeps  hopping.'  Old did  die  from  a  burn  ;  he  be 
came  a  sot,  and  was  probably  in  Tarn  O'Shanter's  sight 
seeing  condition  when  he  met  Mary  with  the  rope.  I  have 
told  you  this  as  a  delightful  proof  that  superstition  has  found 
a  retreat  in  our  all-knowing  land,  though  it  be  in  the  dark 
est  recesses  of  these  lees  of  humanity.  The  open  grave 
and  the  pinching  spirit  in  the  garden  would  not  be  bad  for 
a  German  story. 

To  the  same. 

44  New  York,  March  30,  1851. 

"  You  ask  me  what  I  have  been  doing  all  winter.  Little, 
my  dear  child,  but  watch  your  father's  face,  and  do  what  I 
could  to  minister  to  his  comfort,  and  shift  one  heavy  burden 


328  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

for  another.  I  have  written  some  small  matters,  and  tried 
my  hand  at  a  heavy  one  ;  but  heaviness  is  the  prevailing 
element." 

Miss  Setlgwick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

"  Lenox,  May  4,  1851. 

*  *  *  *  "  Your  mother,  after  reading  Hawthorne's  book,* 
has  most  kindly  and  patiently  gone  straight  through  it  again 
in  loud  reading  to  your  father  and  me.  Your  father  is  not 
a  model  listener  ;  ten  thousand  thoughts  of  ten  thousand 
things  to  be  done  call  him  off,  and  would  wear  out  any  tem 
per  but  your  mother's.  Have  you  read  it?  There  is  mar 
velous  beauty  in  the  diction  ;  a  richness  and  originality  of 
thought  that  give  the  stamp  of  unquestionable  genius ;  a 
microscopic  observation  of  the  external  world,  and  the  keen 
est  analysis  of  character;  an  elegance  and  finish  that  is  like 
the  work  of  a  master  sculptor — perfect  in  its  artistic  details. 
And  yet,  to  my  mind,  it  is  a  failure.  It  fails  in  the  essen 
tials  of  a  work  of  art ;  there  is  not  essential  dignity  in  the 
characters  to  make  them  worth  the  labor  spent  on  them. 
A  low-minded  vulgar  hypocrite,  a  weak-minded  nervous  old 
maid,  and  her  half-cracked  brother,  with  nothing  but  beauty, 
and  a  blind  instinctive  love  of  the  beautiful,  are  the  chief 
characters  of  the  drama.  *  Little  Phoebe'  is  the  redemption, 
as  far  as  she  goes,  of  the  book — a  sweet  and  perfect  flower 
amidst  corruption,  barrenness,  and  decay.  The  book  is  an 
affliction.  It  affects  me  like  a  passage  through  the  wards 
of  an  insane  asylum,  or  a  visit  to  specimens  of  morbid  an 
atomy.  It  has  the  unity  and  simple  construction  of  a  Greek 
tragedy,  but  without  the  relief  of  divine  qualities  or  great 
events ;  and  the  man  takes  such  savage  delight  in  repeat 
ing  and  repeating  the  raw  head  and  bloody  bones  of  his  im 
agination.  There  is  nothing  genial,  excepting  always  little 
Phoebe,  the  ideal  of  a  New  England,  sweet-tempered, '  ac- 

*  The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables. 


Life  and  Letters.  ,      329 

complishing'  village  girl.  I  might  have  liked  it  better  when 
I  was  younger,  but  as  we  go  through  the  tragedy  of  life  we 
need  elixirs,  cordials,  and  all  the  kindliest  resources  of  the 
art  of  fiction.  There  is  too  much  force  for  the  subject.  It 
is  as  if  a  railroad  should  be  built  and  a  locomotive  started 
to  transport  skeletons,  specimens,  and  one  bird  of  Paradise  ! 

In  1850,  Mr.  Charles  Sedgwick's  house  was  moved  from 
the  somewhat  cramped  position  it  occupied  in  the  village  of 
Lenox  to  a  charming  situation  at  a  little  distance,  on  the 
brow  of  the  hill,  and  commanding  a  vast  and  beautifully-va 
ried  prospect.  Here  Miss  Sedgwick's  "  wing"  received  still 
farther  additions,  notably  that  of  a  broad  and  well-inclosed 
piazza,  looking  to  the  south  over  twenty  miles  of  valley, 
meadow,  lake,  and  hill,  to  the  blue  Taghkonic  range,  in 
southernmost  Berkshire.  The  terrace  in  front  of  it  was 
bright  with  flowers,  which  the  assiduous  care  of  their  mis 
tress  kept  in  bloom  both  early  and  late,  even  upon  that 
height,  still  so  bleak  in  early  spring  and  late  autumn.  She 
was  an  enthusiastic  gardener,  and  thought  no  pains  too  great 
to  save  a  favorite  rose  or  geranium,  or  to  coax  a  bed  of  vio 
lets  into  early  blossom.  Nor  did  she  confine  her  care  to 
flowers,  but  took  a  practical  interest  in  the  growing  vegeta 
bles,  and  had  her  own  strawberry-bed,  from  which  it  was  her 
delight,  in  the  early  morning,  to  gather  the  fruit  with  her  own 
hands.  When  she  gave  her  frequent  breakfast-parties,  which 
all  who  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  her  guests  must  remem 
ber  as  among  the  most  fascinating  banquets  in  their  memo 
ry,  alike  for  the  place,  with  its  summer-morning  beauty  fresh 
upon  it,  the  delicacy  of  the  viands,  the  piquant  or  interesting 
talk  that  was  sure  to  arise,  and  the  radiant  cordiality  of  the 
hostess,  she  would  be  in  her  garden  by  six  o'clock  to  gather 
fruit  and  flowers  for  the  table,  and  unconscious  inspirations 
of  health  and  happiness  for  herself,  of  which  she  dispensed 
the  latter,  at  least,  as  liberally  as  the  more  tangible  harvest 


330  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgivick. 

of  her  borders.  Then,  after  arranging  the  table,  and  paying 
a  visit  to  her  tiny  kitchen,  where  the  more  delicate  dishes 
received  the  touch  of  her  own  skillful  hand,  she  would  make 
a  rapid  toilette,  and  appear,  untired  as  the  day,  to  greet  her 
guests  with  that  exquisite  grace  and  sweetness,  that  genial 
warmth  of  welcome  which  made  old  and  young,  grave  and 
gay,  literary  celebrities,  distinguished  foreigners,  fashionable 
people  from  town,  and  plain  country  friends  all  feel  a  de 
lightful  ease  in  her  presence.  Her  vivacity,  shrewdness,  and 
tact  in  conversation  were  never  more  charming  than  at  these 
Arcadian  repasts. 

She  piqued  herself  upon  her  cookery,  and  with  reason. 
"Cooking  is  the  only  accomplishment  of  which  I  am  vain," 
she  said.  A  New  England  life,  especially  in  the  country, 
makes  a  strong  draft  upon  all  the  executive  faculties  of  man 
or  woman,  and  Miss  Sedgwick  fully  and  cheerfully  accepted 
all  its  obligations.  She  could  make  cake  as  well  as  books, 
and  provide  for  all  household  exigencies  as  ingeniously  as 
she  could  construct  a  story.  Mme.  Roland,  speaking  of  her 
youth,  mentions  it  as  a  rare  and  noteworthy  variety  of  occu 
pation,  that  the  same  girl  who  read  works  of  philosophy,  and 
could  explain  the  circles  of  the  celestial  sphere,  was  often 
called  into  the  kitchen  to  make  an  omelet,  skim  the  pot,  or 
dress  a  salad.  To  many  Yankee  women  the  apparent  anom 
aly  is  a  piece  of  every-day  experience. 

After  her  return  from  Europe  Miss  Sedgwick  had  very 
serious  trouble  with  her  eyes,  and  was  for  a  year  or  more 
under  the  care  of  Dr.  Elliott,  the  distinguished  oculist.  His 
treatment  was  of  much  service  to  her,  but  her  eyes  never 
fully  recovered  their  strength. 

Aliss  Setlgwick  to  Afrs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

"Lenox,  May  4,  1851. 
****««  Quiet  indoors,  but  out,  what  a  bustle  I     What 


Life  and  Letters.  33 1 

uprooting  and  down-setting,  digging  holes  and  filling  holes, 
moving  fences,  sowing,  planting,  building  !  When  the  sound 
of  the  hammer  shall  cease,  it  will  be^  a  token  of  desolation 
indeed — of  desolation  or  perfection.  We  have  workmen 
here  of  every  description,  from  Goodrich  (who,  you  know,  is 
employed  as  the  ideal  of  amiability  and  honesty)  down 
through  the  gradations  of  Oliver,  Saddler,  Matthew,  to  four 
*  jail-birds'  who  daily  flutter  their  wings  (and  sing  in  heart,  I 
hope)  over  our  diggings.  I  had  two  of  them  in  rather  re 
moved  and  close  companionship  on  the  rockery  yesterday, 
and  I  could  not  help  adjuring  them  not  again  to  immure 
their  strong  arms.  Some  day  when  I  am  gone,  dear  Kate, 
you  will  take  your  children  to  this  rockery,  and  tell  them 
how,  for  love  of  you  and  them,  I  toiled  on  it,  and  if  there 
should  be  visible  tokens  of  my  toil,  you  will  tell  them  how 
many  loving  thoughts  made  an  atmosphere  of  enchantment 
around  me  there.  I  every  day  feel  more  and  more  the  hap 
piness  of  our  removal  to  this  place — the  escape  and  the  ben 
ediction.  Every  day,  every  hour  the  earth  has  a  fresh  aspect 
of  beauty.  I  do  not  know  when  (not  since  my  childhood)  I 
have  been  in  the  country  at  this  season;  and  if  I  could  climb 
hills  and  fences  as  I  did  then,  as  far  as  my  relations  to  na 
ture  go,  I  should  be  far  more  enjoying  than  then.  Nature 
is  now  a  more  familiar,  an  older,  and  a  richer  friend ;  and, 
besides  what  it  is  in  itself,  it  is  a  medium  of  communication 
with  the  distant  and  the  departed." 

Jlfiss  Sedgwick  to  Afr.  William  Minot  Jr. 

"  Lenox,  May  15,  1851. 

**  MY  DEAR  WILLIAM, — It  would,  I  know,  please  you  if  you 
could  look  into  my  heart,  and  see  how  much  this  last  proof 
of  your  tender  affection  has  increased  my  tranquillity  and 
my  sense  of  riches  in  that  which  alone  constitutes  inappre 
ciable  and  permanent  wealth.  My  besetting  sin  is  a  crav- 


332  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgivick. 

ing  for  love,  and  a  miserly  fear,  and  dread,  and  belief  of  its 
precariousness.  This  is  partly  nature,  and  partly  the  result 
of  the  fact  that  in  the  ^beginning  of  my  life,  and  through  so 
much  of  my  existence  that  it  gained  the  force  of  a  constitu 
tional  habit,  I  was  the  most  beloved  of  many  hearts.  Oth 
ers  came  between  me  and  these  loves,  and  for  the  hardest 
trial  of  single  life  I  was  unprepared.  What  little  fame  I  may 
have  had,  and  general  consideration,  has  not  been  the  slight 
est  compensation  to  me  for  the  loss  of  that  instinctive  ten 
derness  so  like  divine  love,  that  which  needs  no  suggestion 
or  prop  of  duty,  but  acts  spontaneously  with  all  the  qualities 
of  fire  but  its  destructiveness.  If  I  have  not  moderated  my 
desires,  I  have  come  to  consider  more  rationally  the  inevi 
table  in  my  condition,  and,  I  trust,  more  gratefully  what  is 
left  to  me." 

Miss  Sedgtvick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

"  Lenox,  September  28,  1851. 

******  It  is  good,  as  the  burdens  of  age  accumulate, 
to  shake  them  all  off;  to  change  old,  tiresome  ideas  for  new 
ones  ;  to  take  a  world  of  fresh  impressions  ;  to  fill  the  store 
house  of  imagination  with  new  and  beautiful  images  ;  to  gain 
assurance  to  uncertain  opinions ;  to  verify  old  fancies;  to 
throw  off  some  of  your  old  social  burdens  while  you  extend 
the  social  chain  ;  in  short,  to  go  to  Italy  and  come  home 
again  !  And  I  think  it  would  be  a  good  plan,  Kate,  to  send 
out  one  of  the  family  every  year  to  bring  home  *  bread  and 
fruit'  for  those  that  must  stay  at  home.  Plowshares  and 
reaping-hooks  are  grand  things,  but  one  would  like  some 
of  the  delectations  of  life.  It  was  a  convenient  way  of  wa 
tering  the  earth  in  the  old  times  of  Adam  and  Eve  by  dews, 
but  the  clouds  and  the  rainbow  are  the  fine  arts  of  Nature." 


Life  and  Letters.  333 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

"  Lenox,  November  2,  1851. 

"IMv  DEAREST  KATE, — What  weaver's  shuttle  in  Job's 
day  went  as  the  days,  months,  and  years  fly  now  1  Novem 
ber,  the  last  month  but  that  which  goes  to  '  manners'  and 
does  us  no  good,  has  come  and  is*going,  and  the  months 
that  make  up  that  solemn  creature  called  the  year  seem  to 
me  to  bear  no  record  that  will  not  pass  with  the  leaves  of 
the  flowers  that  have  dropped.  But  this  is  nonsense  1  If 
it  is  by  continual  dropping  that  the  rock  is  worn,  so  it  is  by 
minute  accretions  that  the  gem  is  formed,  and  our  meetings 
and  partings,  the  minglings  of  our  smiles  and  tears,  the 
voices'and  caresses  of  our  children,  the  cheerful  'good-morn 
ings'  and  prayerful  '  good-nights'  that  have  made  up  the 
year's  life,  have  nourished  those  affections  that  constitute 
our  immortality,  that  inspire  the  hope  of  it,  that  assure  the 
faith  in  it,  that  arc  /'/. 

"  The  poor  elephant  is  no  more  I*  William's  gay  words 
were  hardly  a  fit  accompaniment  for  his  sublimely  dreary 
carcass.  I  saw  him  dying  on  Friday.  He  lay  quiet,  look 
ing  dreamily  around,  his  proboscis  curled  up,  without  a  strug 
gle  or  movement,  seeming  to  express  the  submission  of  the 
mightiest  thing  on  earth  to  a  stern,  inexorable,  omnipotent 
Fate.  It  is  odd  enough,  but  he  reminded  me  of  the  *  dying 
gladiator.1  Were  his  visions,  in  that  wretched  shed  of  But- 
Jer's,  where  his  captors  had  brought  him  to  die,  with  the 
leaden  skies  of  our  November  over  him,  of  his  fellows  tramp 
ing  over  the  bright  Indian  fields,  and  drinking  (two  barrels 

*  This  elephant,  •  Columbus,'  belonged  to  a  traveling  menagerie.  In 
crossing  a  bridge  in  the  northern  part  of  the  county,  he  broke  through, 
and  was  so  injured  by  the  fall  that  he  could  go  no  farther  than  Lenox. 
lie  lived,  however,  for  some  days,  and  was,  of  course,  an  object  of  much 
curiosity  and  interest. 


334  -Life  of  Catharine  M. 

at  a  draught  1)  the  waters  of  the  Tigris?  Like  the  'gladia* 
tor,'  too,  his  captivity  has  made  him  immortal — at  least  so 
long  as  the  napkin-ring  and  our  memory  of  William's  wit 
lasts.  Instead  of  dissecting  him,  as  William  anticipated, 
they  are  going  to  bury  him  to-morrow  entire,  and  claim  dam 
ages  of  the  town  of  Adams,  which  town,  your  father  thinks, 
is  very  like  to  sue  the*  company  for  breaking  clown  their 
bridge  !' 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Mrs.  K.  S,  Minot. 

44  Stock  bridge,  December  21,  1851. 

******  I  hope  you  see  the  papers,  and  all  the  curious, 
exciting,  odd,  and  great  things  daily  occurring.  Did  you  see 
the  Cincinnati  address?  Apart  from  the  great  interest  of 
Hungary  and  her  apostle,  it  is  a  delight  to  me  to  sec  the 
currents  of  small  party  politics,  of  business  competitions,  of 
money  profits  and  losses,  and  all  low  materialities,  over- 
flowed  by  an  inundation  of  generous  sentiment — the  nation 
for  once,  and  (if  it  be  so)  for  one  moment,  kindled  with  a 
disinterested  sentiment,  the  higher  part  of  our  nature  in  gen 
eral  action." 

Miss  Sctlgiuick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Afinot. 

44  Stockbrhlgc,  December  27,  1851. 

*  *  *  *  "  This  morning  the  mercury  at  8  o'clock  was,  by 
your  Aunt  Susan's  thermometer,  9°  bctoiv,  and  that  little  in 
strument,  like  every  thing  in  her  domain,  is  made  as  com 
fortable  as  possible,  snugged  up  in  a  little  corner  of  her 
south  porch.  Others  in  the  town  fell  to  15°  below.  I  am 
thus  particular  for  my  own  self-glorification,  for  I  went  to 
breakfast  with  Judge  Byington  and  his  little  girls,  walking 
the  half  mile  on  slow,  slippery  walking,  and  to-morrow,  Kate, 
I  am  sixty-two  years  old  !  I  never  felt  that  I  was  old  till 
the  fact  of  sixty  years  stared  me  in  the  face,  the  years  that 


Lift:  and  Letters.  335 

all  hold  old  ;  and  even  now,  if  there  were  any  mode  of  evad 
ing  time,  any  charlatanerie  of  self-delusion  that  could  gain 
say  the  fact,  I  should  give  in  to  my  general  sensation  that  I 
am  yet  in  mid-life,  a  fit  companion  for  you  who  are  still  in 
your  zenith,  a  fit  playmate  for  Alice  and  Will  1  But  that  I 
am  I  will  maintain,  for  there  is  childhood  at  each  end  of  the 
road  ;  they  have  not  taken  up  the  threads,  and  I  have  pretty 
much  let  them  go !  *  *  *  *  The  whole  town,  at  least  the 
female  portion  of  it,  are  up  and  doing.*  Even  the  softly, 
calculating,  most  arithmetical  wives  of  our  farmers  are 
co-operating  with  the  Hungarian  champions  of  the  Plain. 
Kossulh's  speeches  have  produced  a  deep  conviction  of  the 
religious  truth  of  his  cause,  and  of  the  solemnity  of  the  duty 
of  a  practical  protest  in  Its  favor.  An  earnest  soul  creates 
souls,  vivifies  the  principle  of  life  that  sleeps  throughout  their 
earthly  pilgrimage  in  so  many  human  beings." 

• 
Miss  Setlgwick  to  Mrs.  JK.  S.  Minot. 

••  Lenox,  January  1 1,  1852. 

*  *  *  *  «« and  seem  to  me  to  have  the 

true  idea  of  a  home — a  place  guaranteed  against  all  foreign 
intervention  ;  a  sanctuary  of  domestic  rights  and  freedom  ; 
a  temple  with  open  doors,  but  never  to  be  entered  by  the 
profane  ;  a  missionary  station,  whence  light  is  to  go  forth  to 
the  heathen  around  them  ;  a  life-school ;  an  insurance  office 
for  the  next  generation  ;  a  fortress  of  religion  and  morality  ; 
a  guarded  passage  to  the  holy  land  for  them,  tended  by  their 
two  little  angels.  Such  securities  for  the  permanence  of  our 
institutions,  carried  wherever  they  go,  will  defend  us  against 
swarms  of  Irish,  and  Irish  priests  and  German  radicals. 
Would  they  not  have  preserved  the  French  from  the  horror 
of  being  drilled  for  freedom  through  centuries  of  alternate 
revolution  and  despotism  ?  Is  it  not  the  utter  moral  un- 

*  Getting  up  a  fair  for  the  Hungarians. 


33  6  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

soundness  and  hoinelessness  of  the  French  that  makes  the 
blood  all  tend  to  the  centre  and  putrefy  there  ?  Homes 
where  intelligence  and  affection  have  fair  play  scatter  light 
and  life  throughout  the  land,  and  make  the  surest  defenses 
against  centralization.  *  *  *  *  I  suppose  you  have  heard 
from  your  mother  every  particular  of  the  fair.*  B.  and  Mrs. 
N.  worked  like  a  whole  army  of  beavers.  *  *  *  *  We  were 
all  charmed  by  Colonel  Perczel.  He  is  about  forty-five  —  a 
fine  person,  with  a  complexion  not  exactly  fair  nor  delicate, 
but  having  a  certain  tone  expressing  purity,  refinement,  man 
liness,  health,  and  giving  to  beautiful  and  harmonious  feat 
ures  just  the  ground  they  want.  An  expression  naturally 
cheerful,  but  saddened  by  circumstances,  for  you  constantly 
see  the  light  beyond  the  eclipse.  His  manners,  too,  have  a 
high-bred  quality,  kindly  and  gentle,  with  a  certain  reserve 
of  delicacy,  and  not  hauteur.  Poor  man  !  poor  people  ! 
what  are  they  to  do?  Not  Kossuth  —  he  is  exceptional  — 
the  prophet  will  die  or  be  translated.  He  who  can  say,  '  If 
I  am  disappointed,  I  shall  go  to  prayer,  to  the  Lord's  Sup 
per,  to  battle,  and  to  death/  will  be  looked  after  reverently 
and  with  longing  eyes  by  those  who  sit  at  case,  but  far  and 
far  below  him.  *  *  *  *  Whatever  he  does  for  the  Magyars, 
he  is  doing  good  to  people  that  want  this  bread  from  heaven 
as  much  as  they  want  any  thing  he  can  give  them." 


Jlf/ss  Sc'i/jrzv/'t'A  to  Rev.  Dr.  JDewey,  on  the  death  of  the 
William  Ware. 

"  New  York,  March  22,  1852. 

******  But  there  are  subjects  of  fixed  interest,  such  as 
the  death  of  our  dear  friend,  toward  whom  I  have  something 
of  the  feeling  his  wife  expresses,  and  which,  I  think,  we  al 
ways  have  for  those  who  have  made  an  essential  part  of  our 
existence  —  very  life  of  our  life  —  as  if  he  were  not  dead  —  as 
*  For  the  Hungarians. 


Life  and  Letters.  337 

if  I  should  meet  him  again  in  those  manifestations  in  which 
I  have  met  him — see  his  serene  brow,  his  calm  eye — hear 
his  voice — 

"  '  Oh  fur  a  touch  of  the  vanished  hand, 
And  .1  sound  of  the  voice  that  is  still  !' 

How  many  times — for  how  many  have  I  breathed  this  wish 
in  agony  of  soul !  But  for  the  death  of  those  we  love,  and 
against  the  dread  of  death  for  ourselves,  there  are  the  om 
nipotent  words,  *  Whether  we  live  or  die,  we  are  the  Lord's, 
for  to  this  end  Christ  both  died,  and  rose,  and  revived,  that 
he  might  be  Lord  both  of  the  living  and  the  dead/  Let 
us  be  tranquil,  my  dear  friend — the  nearer  the  end,  the  more 
tranquil. 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  you  arc  writing  about  our  friend  for 
the  Christian  Examiner,  You  should  put  your  testimony 
on  record.  No  one  living  better  understood  him.  I  have 
not  read  Bellows's  sermon,  but  I  was  exceedingly  pleased 
with  it  when  he  preached  it.  I  thought  he  got  at  the  secret 
springs  of  William  Ware's  failures  and  success.  I  think 
there  was  no  one  present  who  estimated  William  Ware  more 
highly  than  I  do,  or  loved  him  so  well,  and  yet  most  of  his 
old  congregation  thought  Mr.  B.  did  great  injustice,  or  rather 
that  he  was  in  great  error  in  his  account  of  the  deficiencies 
in  his  pulpit  exercises.  But  it  can  not  be  denied  that  he 
was  a  cold  (not  dull),  and,  to  strangers,  an  uninteresting 
speaker.  No  man  felt  this  so  painfully  as  himself.  But,  in 
spite  of  this,  I  can  testify  that,  as  a  pastor,  and  even  preach 
er,  he  was  so  beloved  that  I  believe  not  one  consented  wil 
lingly  to  his  going.  Robert  again  and  again,  when  he  had 
resolved  on  the  step  he  finally  took,  persuaded  him  from  it, 
and  when  he  finally  went,  it  was  felt  throughout  that  little 
Chambers  Street  Church  like  the  breaking  up  of  a  family. 
He  was  all  gold — gold  too  pure  to  be  worked  up  into  the 
world's  common  currency." 


33**  -Lift  °f  Catharine  M. 


Miss  Settjpvick  to  Mrs.  J£.  S.  Minot. 

"  New  York,  April  1 1, 1852. 

*#**«<  My  indisposition  is  gone  and  nearly  forgotten, 
and  ought  to  serve  me  merely  to  mark  my  great  exemption 
from  the  commonest  affliction  of  humanity.  And,  besides, 
it  brings  an  overbalance  of  pleasure  in  the  unusual  mani 
festations  of  love  it  draws  out  from  those  to  whom  we  really 
are  dear ;  and,  when  one  grows  old,  my  dear  Kate,  one  gets 
to  be  covetous  of  such  manifestations,  and  to  feel  somewhat 
likr  an  old  miser  I  knew  who  carried  his  title-deeds  about 
with  him,  and  thought  that  if  he  could  not  see  them  his  es 
tate  was  gone  to  rack  and  ruin." 

Miss  Sedgwifk  to  Mrs.  A*.  S.  Mi/tot. 

"  New  York,  May  2,  1852. 

*  *  *  *  «  j  fac\f  niy  cicar  child,  incompetent  to  sustaining 
the  part  of  a  Protestant  champion.  I  have  been  myself 
content  with  the  great  principle  achieved  and  fixed  by  the 
Protestant  battle — the  right  of  private  judgment.  I  never 
could — and  now  less  than  ever — feel  the  vital  importance 
of  one  mode  of  faith  over  another.  The  Protestant,  in  all 
its  modifications,  seems  to  me  to  have  an  immense  advan 
tage  in  its  political  influence,  and  in  its  general  development 
and  advancement  of  the  species.  But  that  God  should  look 
with  more  favor  on  any  individual  because  he  is  a  Catholic 
or  a  Protestant  seems  to  me  incredible.  That  the  infinite 
Father  of  all,  looking  over  his  universe,  should  respect  the 
fences  and  pens  set  up  by  his  short-sighted  creatures  !  Some 
of  these,  no  doubt,  are  far  better  for  us  than  others,  but  no 
one  nearer  to  His  love  than  another.  The  great  thing  is  to 
choose  that  best  adapted*  to  our  spiritual  wants,  or  rather,  I 
should  think,  to  rise  to  an  elevation  above  them  all — nearer 
to  God's  universal  charity,  and  farther  from  man's  ignorant 
restrictions. 


Life  and  Letters.  339 

"  1  long  lo  know  if  you  heard  Kossuth.  I  trust  so.  No 
such  orator  has  been,  or  in  all  human  probability  will  be 
heard  again.  And,  for  his  cause,  it  is  the  rock  of  eternal 
justice.  Among  the  tribes  that  have  poured  in  upon  us 
this  last  week  came  a  Dr.  Rcclfield,  a  professor  of  the  art  of 
reading  physiognomy.  He  pretends  that  it  is  an  exact  sci 
ence,  and  truly  his  readings  here  were  wonderful.  I  have 
never  seen  any  thing  in  phrenology  that  bore  any  compari 
son  with  his  interpretations  of  the  girls'  characters. 

Miss  St'ttgwtcA  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

•'Lenox,  May  23,  1852. 

"  MY  DEAREST  KATE, — At  Lenox  once  more,  in  health 
and  comfort ;  a  good  color  on  your  father's  cheeks,  cheer 
fulness  abounding,  and  a  lovely  infusion  of  bursting  blos 
soms  of  violets,  eyebrights,  and  tender  green  over  nature. 
In  spite  of  the  chill  in  the  atmosphere,  which  we  must  have 
whenever  the  wind  blows  from  the  snows  still  unmclted  in 
our  Northern  forests — in  spite  of  this,  there  is  a  pre-eminent 
beauty  in  the  spring ;  the  grace,  freshness,  and  vigor  of  youth 
— a  sentiment  breathing  through  nature — and  the  renewed 
evidence  that  seeming  death  is  not  death.  In  this  last  there 
is  to  me  a  silent,  potent,  solemn  assurance  that  the  precious 
life  hidden  from  us  is  not  extinct — that  those  we  have  laid 
in  the  bosom  of  the  earth  in  age  and  in  childhood  shall  ap 
pear  before  us  in  the  infinite  beauty  of  their  immortality. 

****«!  saw  Kossuth  for  the  first  time,  and  though 
he  did  not  make  one  of  his  brilliant  speeches,  I  was  not  in 
the  least  disappointed.  It  seems  to  me  that  our  imagina 
tions  always  fall  short  in  conceiving  the  best  things  of  their 
class.  The  masterpieces  of  poetry,  of  nature,  of  art,  all 
surpass  your  expectations,  and  so  does  the  exquisite  blend 
ing  of  nature  and  art  in  this  divinely-inspired  man.  He 
seems  to  me  like  melody  perfected  by  the  harmonies  of  art 


340  Hife  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgivick. 

— the  whole  man,  intellectual,  moral,  and  physical,  all  co 
operating  in  one  result.  I  never  had  so  profound  an  im 
pression  from  the  presence  of  any  human  being,  and  I  think 
this  is  from  the  conviction  that  he  has  been  called  to  a  sa 
cred  duty,  and  with  his  whole  soul  has  obeyed  the  call." 

Miss  Settgwifk  to  Mrs.  A".  6".  Minot. 

"  New  York,  Juuc  13,  1852. 

"  I  came  to  Now  York,  as  you  know,  with  the  intention  of 
staying  a  few  days,  and,  having  a  few  odd  jobs  to  do  up,  I 
was  immediately  involved  in  an  address  to  Kossuth  on  the 
subject  of  a  lecture  he  had  expressed  a  wish  to  give  in  or 
der  to  raise  funds  for  his  family,  but  which  he  could  not 
thrust  upon  the  public.  This  address,  the  obtaining  signa 
tures,  and  the  work  to  obtain  an  audience  involves  an  infin 
ity  of  labor.  Kossuth  has  bitter  experience  of  the  incon 
stancy  of  popular  favor.  Five  months  ago  this  city  was  in 
a  fever  about  him  ;  the  skies  were  rent  with  the  general  ac 
clamations.  Now,  the  last  Convention  and  the  next  Con 
vention,  Meagher,  the  sale  of  a  house-lot,  the  dry  weather, 
M.  F.'s  wedding,  any  topic  that  comes  up,  has  more  interest 
and  takes  precedence  !  The  ladies  went  on  Friday  morn 
ing  to  present  our  request.  Mrs.  Kingsland,  the  mayoress, 
presented  it.  Kossuth,  of  course,  received  us  with  his 
graceful  graciousness.  He  looked  sad  ;  but,  as  he  said,  he 
is  inured  to  adversity." 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Mrs.  C /tanning  (1852). 
****«!  ^d  not  answer  your  letter  about  Margaret 
Fuller  because  I  wanted  time  for  that.  I  did  not  entirely 
sympathize  \yith  you,  and  truly  I  distrust  myself  when  I  do 
not.  The  book  raised  my  estimation  extremely  of  Miss  Ful 
ler,  and  the  sadness  of  her  life  and  the  tragedy  of  her  death 
took  from  me  all  power  to  criticise  her.  From  first  to  last 


Life  and  Letters.  341 

she  was  a  woman  of  noble  aims,  and,  with  all  her  egotism, 
unselfish  in  action.  The  longer  I  live,  the  more  presumptu 
ous  and  futile  it  seems  to  me  to  attempt  judgment  of  charac 
ter,  and  Miss  Fuller's  was  exceptional.  Her  self-esteem 
was  so  inordinate  as  to  be  almost  insane,  but  it  appears  (and 
it  is,  I  think,  so  stated)  to  have  been  a  constitutional  and  in 
herited  defect,  and  certainly  without  moral  taint.  Her  truth 
was  exemplary,  and  all  her  conduct  after  she  left  off  theoriz 
ing  and  began  the  action  of  life  in  the  accustomed  channels 
was  admirable,  her  Italian  life  beautiful.  The  close  had  the 
solemnity  of  a  fulfilled  prophecy,  and,  with  all  its  apparent 
horrors,  was  it  not  merciful  ?  Had  she  come  safely  to  our 
shores,  she  must  have  encountered  harassing  struggles  for 
the  mere  means  of  existence,  anxiety,  and  all  the  petty  cares 
that  perplex  and  obstruct  a  noble  nature,  and,  worse  than  all, 
disappointment  1  If  she  were  permitted  to  enter  at  once 
with  those  dearest  to  her  upon  a  higher  state  of  existence, 
added  to  the  ecstasy  of  a  new  life  there  was  the  joy  of  an  es 
cape  from  this.  The  arms  stretched  toward  her  will  soon 
enfold  her!  *  *  *  *  I  shake  hands  with  you  and  your  dear 
family  on  Kossuth.  I  rejoice  in  the  conviction  of  his  pre 
eminent  virtue,  and  I  have  been  deeply  moved  by  his  divine 
genius.  He  seems  to  me  to  take  rank  with  the  noble  army 
of  martyrs,  for  is  not  his  life  a  continued  martyrdom  ?  I  saw 
him  twice  in  New  York.  He  paid  us  one  beautiful  visit,  and 
once  I  went  with  a  deputation  of  ladies  to  ask  him  to  give 
the  lecture  for  his  mother.  Would  you  believe  that  we  had 
difficulty  in  getting  names  enough  to  publish  to  this  call,  and 
infinite  trouble  and  anxiety  in  getting  up  the  meeting? 
Dear  William  R.  worked  gallantly,  and  I  worked  hard,  and 
after  discouragement  and  almost  despair  we  had  complete 
success  at  last.  It  was  one  of  the  blissful  moments  of  life 
when  we  got  to  the  Tabernacle  that  memorable  night  and 
found  it  full — and  what  a  lecture  it  was  I" 


342  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sctlgwifk. 

X 

Miss  Sedgiuick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot,  in  answer  to  an  invitation 
to  cotne  to  IVoodbourne. 

"June  18, 1852. 

******  It  was  a  lovely  vision,  that  sweet  place  in  all  its 
June  loveliness,  and  an  escape  from  this  dreadful  heat.  But, 
dear  Kate,  I  probably  feel  very  differently  about  the  claims 
of  this  cause*  from  what  you  can.  It  seems  to  me  a  patri 
otic  and  womanly  duty  to  give  succor  to  these  poor  exiles, 
and  very  strange  if  one  can  not  feebly  work  for  a  few  days 
for  him  who,  however  mistaken  his  judgments  may  prove,  has 
toiled  day  and  night  for  humanity  for  months  and  years,  who 
has  been  in  prison  and  in  perils  oft,  in  sorrows  always." 

Miss  Satgwick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

"  Lenox,  November  7,  1852. 

*  *  *  *  «  Was  not  the  fable  of  the  ass  and  the  lion  aptly 
quoted  in  a  New  York  journal  in  relation  to  Theodore  Par 
ker's  funeral  sermon  ?  What  sweet  and  bitter  waters  has 
that  great  man's  death  caused  to  flow !  I  do  not  envy  him 
who  can  'draw  the  frailties'  of  a  man  from  *  their  dread 
abode,1  or  who  does  not  gratefully  leave  them  *  to  repose  on 
the  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God,1  when  death  has  just 
mournfully  closed  the  scene.  *  *  *  *  They  have  had  a 
charming  little  excitement  at  S.,  quite  novel  in  its  kind. 
Your  Aunt  Jane  with  a  surplus)  (wonders  will  never  cease) 
is  at  last  building  a  wash-room  and  a  drain,  and  in  opening 
the  ground  through  her  garden  the  skeleton  of  a  *  delicately- 
formed'  female  has  been  discovered.  We  have  all  jaur  pet 
solutions  of  the  mystery.  Schoolmaster  Canning,  learned 
in  skulls,  pronounced  it  an  Indian  girl's.  Some  presume  to 
suggest  it  may  have  been  a  *  subject'  of  a  doctor  in  the  neigh 
borhood.  One  intimates  it  maybe  the  solution  of  the  mys- 
*  The  cause  of  Kossulh  and  the  Hungarians. 


Lift:  and  betters.  343 

tery  of  your  Aunt  Jane's  mammoth  squash,  and  threatens  to 
institute  an  inquiry  at  the  next  Berkshire  Horticultural  meet 
ing  as  to  the  nature  of  the  manures  she  employs  !  Those 
of  us  most  eager  for  romantic  mysteries  (the  oldest  inhabi 
tant,  too)  remember  a  certain  Dr.  Tidmarsh,  an  Englishman, 
who  lived  in  £.  W.'s  house,  who  was  implicated  in  some 
dark  concern,  and  left  his  abode  to  the  traditionary  horrors 
of  a  haunted  house.  But  the  poor  skull  tells  no  tales." 


Aliss  Setlgwick  to  Rev.  JDr. 

"  Lenox,  November  27,  1852. 

»*•**««  While  in  New  York  I  heard  Thackeray's  first 
lecture.  It  was  an  able  one,  written  in  classic  English,  and 
given  with  a  manly  dignity  and  simplicity.  He  is  a  nice 
discerncr  and  skillful  delineator  —  so  skillful  that,  if  there 
were  a  detective  police  for  the  follies  and  infirmities  of  hu 
man  nature,  he  would  be  elected  chief  by  acclamation.  But 
I  have  no  affinities  for  this  sagacity,  and  no  great  admiration 
for  his  detective  revelations.  I  prefer  those  nice  analyses 
that  find  sustenance  instead  of  detecting  poison  ;  the  one 
work  is  for  our  Channings,  the  other  for  Thackeray  and  the 
wise  in  their  generation.  I  apply  all  this,  however,  to  the 
impression  received  from  Thackeray's  novels  ;  his  lectures, 
I  believe,  will  be  in  a  good  degree  free  from  this  character 
istic  fault  —  much  more  humane  and  genial  than  his  books, 
and  a  valuable  model  for  our  lecturers,  who,  I  trust,  will  learn 
by  him  to  strike  their  roots  deeper,  to  cultivate  a  more 
healthy  atmospheric  growth,  and  to  prune  off  the  spindling, 
forced,  transcendental  shoots  that  betray  a  false,  perverted, 
and  ignorant  culture. 

"  You  will  not  perceive  —  but  I  do,  and  smile  at  it  —  how 
my  present  chief  interests  arc  betrayed  in  my  modes  of  ex 
pression.  How  I  shall  best  secure  my  precious  roses  out 
side,  and  how  give  a  healthy  growth  to  my  geraniums  inside, 


344  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick. 

employs  all  the  energy  I  have  left.  Mine  is  at  least  an  in 
nocent  vocation,  and  I  shall  succeed  in  it  better  than  Louis 
Napoleon  with  his  empire.  What  strange  tragedies  are  play 
ing  in  our  day,  and  we  never  see'm  coming  to  the  last  act ! 
You  have  read  Victor  Hugo's  wonderful  pamphlet* — can 
the  French  nation  fail  to  be  kindled  by  such  combustibles 
thrown  among  them  ?  This  does  find  its  way  there,  as  many 
copies  have  been  seized.  Is  France  to  go  on  in  the  process 
of  rottenness  to  general  decay  and  death,  or  is  there  vital 
ity  enough  for  resuscitation  ?  Who  can  solve  these  fearful 
questions  ?  Easy  enough  to  ask  1" 

Miss  Sc'ttgwick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Afinot. 

••  Lenox,  November  28,  1852. 

*  *  •»  *  « The  rajn  came  most  opportunely,  softening  the 
earth  so  that  we  could  stick  clown  our  hemlock  boughs.  I 
don't  think  you  were  ever  better  satisfied  when  you  had  put 
Alice  and  Willie  to  sleep,  and  tucked  them  in  their  crib  and 
trundle-bed,  than  I  am  at  looking  out  at  the  nice  green  hem 
lock  curtains  that  are  to  defend  my  roses  from  the  stern  ca 
prices  of  the  coming  winter — from  that  worst  of  all  treat 
ment,  either  in  the  moral  or  physical  world,  alternate  cold 
and  heat.  I  have  been  getting  from  Long  Island  a  variety 
of  the  most  beautiful  flowering  trees,  and  have  set  them  all 
along  the  path  to  Alice's  rockery,  meaning  them  to  be  typ 
ical  of  my  love  for  your  children,  and,  if  I  live  long  enough, 
that  rockery  shall  be  a  beautiful  spot." 

Miss  Stdgwick  to  Afrs.  C/tt?u/it/tg. 

"  Woodbournc,  January  4,  1853. 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — I  have  nearly  given  up  the  hope 
of  hearing  that  you  are  in  Boston,  and  of  meeting  you  there, 
and  therefore  I  must  use  this  poor  substitute  (Heaven  for- 
*  NapoMon  Ic  Petit. 


JLife  and  Letters.  345 

give  my  ingratitude,  for  that  which  bridges  the  abysses 
of  absence  is  not  poor)  for  the  seeing  of  the  eye,  and  the 
hearing  of  the  car,  and  thus  impart  to  you  my  earnest  wish 
es  for  a  '  happy  new  year1  to  you  and  yours.  And  how  dif 
ferently  does  this  phrase  sound  to  us  as  time  bears  us  on  ! 
These  few  words  envelop  our  history,  sparkle  in  our  youth 
with  presumptions  and  insatiable  hope,  and  then  grow  dull 
and  dim  till  they  catch  the  ray  from  a  better  life  ;  and,  bright 
ened  with  this  vitality,  my  dear  friend  of  many  years,  I  utter 
them  to  you.  *  *  *  *  I  am  growing  to  like  more  and  more 
this  country  residence.  Besides  the  ever-fresh  delights  of 
an  expanse  of  heaven,  and  trees,  and  fields,  and  the  actual 
advantage  of  leisure,  there  is  an  escape  from  the  infinite  te- 
diousness  of  city  social  life,  an  exemption  from  making  and 
receiving  '  calls/  which  are  the  froth  of  a  stagnant  pool.  I  do 
not  think  much  of  it  as  teaching  you  your  real  value  to  the 
five  hundred,  for  that  secret  a  person  of  tolerable  perception 
learns  in  various  ways,  but  it  is  a  wholesome  rebuke  to  one's 
vanity  to  learn  how  very  few  will  pay  twenty  cents  and  walk 
half  a  mile  for  the  happiness  of  seeing  you.  You  hear  on 
all  sides,  no  doubt,  of  Thackeray's  lectures.  I  wish  you 
could  hear  them.  They  are  capital  specimens  of  the  best 
London  talk,  with  the  perfecting  of  careful  revision,  and 
given  in  a  voice  that  indicates  a  perception  of  the  sentiment 
of  life,  and  a  thorough  baptism  in  its  sorrows.  Thackeray, 
with  his  great  genius,  has  been  no  favorite  of  mine.  He 
seems  to  me  a  libeler  of  humanity — the  very  antagonistic 
spirit  to  your  brother  William's.  His  last  book  is  better  ; 
the  character  of  Esmond  an  'amende*  to  one.  half  of  the 
race.  But  his  Countess,  after  all  his  elaborate  laudation,  is 
but  an  overswcet  pretty  woman,  with  the  instincts  and  all 
the  weaknesses  of  the  weakest  maternity ;  and  Beatrix  is 
but  his  other  phase  of  womankind,  and  neither  have  the 
merit  of  being  natural."  *  *  *  * 

Pa 


346  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Setigivick. 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

44  New  York,  March  20,  1853. 

*  #  *  *  «  I  perceive  that  neither  you  nor  William  like 
'  Ruth'  quite  as  well  as  I  did.  I  agree  with  you  entirely  as 
to  the  enormity  of  visiting  such  an  offense  so  vindictively, 
but  it  does  not  seem  to  me  that  the  Pharisees  of  -  were 
much  more  oppressively  righteous  than  our  own  people. 
*  *  *  *  The  fault  is  in  an  undue  estimate.  The  absolute 
necessity  of  chastity  in  a  woman,  as  far  as  the  certain  trans 
mission  of  property  goes,  has  given  a  legal  sanction  to  this 
blinding  of  the  eyes  and  hardening  of  the  heart.  Women 
who  violate  every  duty,  who  are  pests  in  temper,  who  tear 
and  rend  their  neighbors1  characters,  who  are  sensualists  to 
the  utter  degradation  of  the  soul,  ride  in  the  world's  chariots 
(and  no  man  or  woman  is  so  rich  but  they  do  them  rever 
ence),  and  in  men  the  permitted  grossness  in  thought,  wqrcl, 
and  deed,  can't  be  spoken  of,  but  a  poor  girl,  ignorant  of 
her  own  nature,  with  opportunity  thrust  upon  her,  and  love 
blinding  her,  is  the  victim  through  life  of  a  single  offense. 
It  is  a  perpetual  punishment  without  hope  of  pardon,  a  rack 
from  which  the  'death  penalty'  is  the  only  escape." 


Safgwick  to  Afrs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

•*  New  York,  March  28,  1853. 

"  I  passed  last  Saturday  evening  in  C.  F.'s  ducal  apart 
ments,  and  met  there  Father  Gavazzi,  an  Italian  patriot 
priest,  converted  to  Protestantism,  or,  as  he  says,  to  Paul- 
ism.  He  looks  to  me  as  if  he  had  thrown  off  the  priestly 
harness  as  joyously  as  Retzsch's  Pegasus  did  the  farmer's, 
but  not  from  heavenly  aspirations  so  much  as  carnal  affec 
tions.  He  has  nothing  of  the  trained  simulation  of  a  priest, 
but  looks  strong  and  bold,  as  if  he  could  lead  or  stay  the 
multitude.  His  eloquence  is  said  to  have  produced  im- 


JLifc  and  Letters.  347 

mensc  effect  in  England.  Perhaps  its  effect  was  partly  ow 
ing  to  his  striking  the  master-note  in  a  full  orchestra  of 
papist  haters.  I  did  not  like  his  speech  here,  but  he  has  a 
rabble  of  orthodox  '  mother  of  Babylon*  haters  crying  *  ho- 
sanna  1'  after  him.  One  has  but  to  get  up  a  stylish  menag 
erie,  and  the  lions  are  whistled  into  it  like  so  many  tame 
pigeons  I  I  was  looking  through  Mrs.  F.'s  vast  arcades 
when  I  saw  our  dear  Mrs.  F.,  looking  lovely  in  black  velvet 
and  lace,  advancing  with  an  Indian  woman  on  her  arm,  ar 
rayed  in  a  theatrical  costume  composed  of  scarlet  cloth,  em 
broidered  muslin,  and  tinsel,  which  she  called  an  '  Indian 
dress.'  The  moccasins  were  national,  and  the  immense 
Spanish  fan  might  have  been  a  gift  from  a  Spanish  king 
of  the  sixteenth  century  to  one  of  the  majesties  of  the  Mon- 


M/ss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Afittot. 

11  New  York,  April  17, 1853. 

#  *  *  *  «  VVe  all  went  last  Friday  evening  to  hear  Father 
Gavazzi,  and,  if  ever  you  have  an  opportunity  in  Boston,  I 
beg  that  you  and  William  will  go.  It  was  in  the  brilliant 
Metropolitan  Hall,  which  holds  4000,  and  it  was  full  to  the 
brim.  He  wears  his  priestly  cassock,  with  the  cross  em 
broidered  on  the  breast  and  sleeve,  and  an  Italian  cloak  of 
sufficient  amplitude  to  give  any  effect  of  drapery  he  chooses. 
He  has  the  strongest  of  Italian  faces,  with  that  blackest  of 
hair  that  gives  expression  like  the  shadow  of  a  picture.  His 
voice  is  powerful  and  flexible.  He  is  melodramatic,  and 
has  some  c/tar/atanerie^  but  is  as  great  an  actor  as  a  man  can 
be  who  has  these  extravagances  and  purposes  of  effect ;  and 
you  are  less  disgusted  with  this  class  of  faults  in  an  Italian 
— their  atmosphere  is  oxygenated.  I  have  seen  no  such 
actor  since  Kean's  time.  His  lecture  was  on  Italy.  His 
satire  was  keen,  his  contempt  biting.  He  portrayed  the 


348  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgiuick. 

whole  Popish  church  in  Italy  as  an  organization  of  police, 
the  pope  being  chef;  and  he  described  the  throbbing  of  the 
Italian  heart  under  the  pressure  of  foreign  domination  in  a 
way  to  make  one's  blood  curdle.  As  I  listened  I  could  not 
help  running  a  parallel  between  him  and  Kossuth,  whom  we 
heard  this  time  last  year.  His  angelic  calmness,  his  Ori 
ental  grace,  his  flexibility,  versatility,  and  the  poetic  quality 
of  his  language,  the  white,  heavenly  light  which  invested 
him,  made  him  as  one  of '  God's  messengers  who  hearken 
to  his  word  and  do  his  pleasure.'  Father  Gavazzi  was  light 
ed  with  prismatic  colors ;  he  dealt  with  thunderbolts  and 
flashes  of  lightning,  and  seemed  sent  forth  by  the  Furies  to 
cry  *  havoc,  and  lot  loose  the  dogs  of  war.'  How  many 
spirits  must  there  be  in  Italy  seething  under  those  priestly 
robes  I" 

Miss  Settgivick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Afinot. 

44  New  York,  March  31,  1853, 

"  MY  DEAREST  KATE, — My  heart  turns  to  you  as  the  only 
one  who  can  entirely  feel,  and  will,  in  a  good  degree,  share 
my  sorrow  in  the  death  of  my — our  dear  friend  Madame  Sis- 
mondi.  I  have  just  received  the  news  by  a  letter  from 
Mary  Mackintosh.  She  says  she  died  *  peaceful  and  happy;' 
so  she  should,  and  so  I  am  sure  she  would  if  she  had  her 
senses.  So,  dear  Kate,  the  dearest  treasure  of  our  journey 
has  passed  away,  and  the  sweet  letters  that  came  like  the 
holy  dew  of  its  twilight  will  be  no  more  forever.  To  me  it 
will  make  no  other  difference.  If  I  am  worthy — I  bitterly 
feel  that  I  am  not — but,  if  God's  mercy  permits  it,  it  can  not 
be  long  when,  my  weary  journey,  too,  finished,  I  shall  rejoin 
her ;  and  even  now  she  seems  nearer  to  me  than  when  she 
lived.  And  you,  dear  Kate — I  trust  you  will  cherish  her 
memory,  and  the  memory  of  that  beautiful  union  which 
showed  us  what  a  happy  marriage  was,  and  demonstrated 


Life  and  Letters.  349 

God's  love  in  that  institution  which,  I  thank  Him,  you,  my 
beloved  child,  have  realized  more  intimately." 

Miss  Sedgwuk  to  Rw.  Dr.  Dtwey. 

"April,  1853. 

"  Have  you  all  read  *  Villette  ?'  and  do  you  not  admire  the 
book,  and  own  it  as  one  of  the  great  books  of  the  time  ?  I 
confess  that  I  have  seldom  been  more  impressed  with  the 
genius  of  a  writer,  and  seldom  less  drawn  to  her  personally. 
She  has  nerves  of  such  delicate  fineness  of  edge  that  the 
least  touch  turns  them,  or  she  has  had  an  exasperating  ex 
perience.  Whether  she  calls  herself  Jane  Eyre,  or  Lucy 
Snowe,  it  does  not  matter — it  is  Miss  Bront6.  She  has  the 
intensity  of  Byron — of  our  own  Fanny  Kemble.  She  uncon 
sciously  infuses  herself  into  her  heroine.  It  is  an  egotism 
whose  fires  are  fed  by  the  inferior  vitality  of  others;  and  how 
well  she  conceives  others!  how  she  daguerreotypes  them  I 

"You  have  read  Jeffrey's  life  and  letters?  What  a  priv 
ilege  it  is  to  read  these  best  effusions  of  his  spirit — stran 
gers  and  aliens  from  him,  to  be  permitted  to  read  letters  that 
have  each  been  unsealed  with  expectation,  reverence,  and 
love  by  those  whose  right  they  were  1  I  have  scarcely  in 
my  lifetime  enjoyed  any  thing  more,  or  felt  a  more  glowing 
response  (according  to  my  poor  measure)  to  the  sentiments 
of  any  nature.  How  susceptible  he  was  to  the  beauty  of 
nature — to  the  clouds,  the  sky,  the  birds,  the  flowers  ;  how 
loving  to  children  ;  how  warm  and  generous  in  his  friend 
ships  ;  how  affectionate  to  women  ;  how  every  thing  that  a 
man  should  be  I  I  know  you  say  amen  to  all  I  could  say. 
Do  you  remember  that  beautiful  letter  about  Burns  ?" 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

"  Lenox,  June  6, 1853. 
*  *  o  tt  « Your  kind  proposal,  dearest  child,  I  can  not 


35°  Life  of  Cat/taring  M.  SeJgwick. 

take  up  with.  I  can  not  leave  my  garden  for  a  month  at 
this  season.  I  am  booked  for  the  White  Hills  in  July,  and 
am  half  engaged  to  make  a  little  captivating  journey  with 
Charles  of  Syracuse.  Besides,  I  have  hired  myself  as  dairy 
maid  to  Belle,  and  Lizzy  is  coming  on  Thursday,  relying  on 
being  my  guest." 

Miss  Sedgivick  to  Mrs.  jK.  S.  Minot. 

"Lenox,  July  17,  1853. 

"My  DEAREST  KATE, — We  arrived,  having  made  a  most 
prosperous  finish  to  our  prosperous  journey,  at  3  o'clock  yes 
terday.     I  feel  deeply  grateful  for  the  immense  and  unlook 
ed-for  enjoyment  I  have  had.     It  is  still  in  my  mind  a  love 
ly  picture,  and  the  memory  of  my  time  (times)  at  Wood- 
bourne  as  superior  to  the  rest  as  Promctheus's  state  was 
after  he  had  brought  fire  from  heaven  to  kindle  it.     The 
White  Hills  were  full  of  melody,  but  the  bird  loves  to  fold 
its  wings  in  its  own  nest,  and  free  as  any  thing  mortal  can 
be  from  all  that  clouds  and  frets  life  seems  the  dear  nest  in 
the  covert  of  Woodbourne.      I  found  all  very  well  here,  and 
the  wheels  rolling  on  smoothly.     C.  is  nicely.     Mr.  W.  and 
Sixteenth  Street  breakfasted  with  me  this  morning ;  Mr.  H. 
G.  in  addition,  and  W.  B.,  who  arrived  last  evening,  and  who 
seems  quite  enchanted  with  Berkshire.     I  found  my  flowers 
looking  like  children  whose  mother  has  been  spending  the 
day  out — vines  dangling,  and  long  fresh  spikes  of  rose-trees 
running  out  in  every  direction,  young  plants  disappeared, 
etc.,  etc.     I  fell  to  work  in  the  rain  (for  it  began  to  rain  aft 
er  we  arrived)  transplanting,  etc.,  and  to-morrow  shall  go 
vigorously  to  work,  and  hope  to  get  my  wires  up,  *  *  *  * 
I  believe  I  am  losing,  or  have  lost,  my  faculties,  for  I  can 
think  of  nothing  else  to  say,  a  difficulty  that  never  occurred 
before  in  writing  to  you.     Thanks,  dear  child,  and  dear  Wil 
liam,  for  your  kindness  to  me ;  kind  you  would  have  been 


JLifc  *<ind  Letters.  351 

to  any  body,  but  I  don't  believe  an  own  mother  ever  had  tru 
er  happiness  in  visiting  her  child  than  I  have  in  going  to  you." 

*  Miss  Settgwick  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

••July  23,  1853. 

"  DEAREST  KATE, — There  are  miseries  in  human  life  that 
Job,  or  Solomon,  or  Jeremiah  have  never  described,  because 
probably  prophecy  never  revealed  to  them  the  folly  of  those 
fools  who  attempt  to  write  after  their  eyes  lie  in  a  pair  of 
spectacles.  For  the  last  quart  d'heure  (of  infinite  length)  I 
have  been  looking  for  my  spectacles  with  the  desperate  con 
viction  that  I  have  dropped  them  in  my  flower-beds,  and 
shall  never  find  them  I  And  I  have  looked  up  an  old  pair 
with  one  glass  (typically)  looking  heavenward  and  the  oth 
er  earthward,  and  now  I  proceed  to  what  I  should  have 
begun  my  letter  with  but  for  this  accident — if  that  can  be 
called  accident  which  is  as  regular  as  my  pulses. 

"  Don't  grow  too  grand  for  your  Berkshire  annual  migra 
tion  while  your  three  parents  here  survive.  An  old  home  is 
like  an  old  violin  :  the  music  of  the  past  is  wrought  into  it.'1 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

"  Lenox,  October  2,  1853. 

****<«  What  a  blessing  it  is  to  look  out  daily  on  a 
scene  that  calls  forth  freshly  and  sincerely  the  song,  'O 
Lord,  my  Lord,  how  excellent  are  thy  works  I*  My  increased 
love  and  enjoyment  of  nature  is  far  more  than  a  compensa 
tion  to  me  for  the  dulled  relish  of  society,  and  the  loss  of 
anticipations  and  projects  that  age  surely  brings.  But  there 
are  losses  that  but  grow  heavier  as  we  go  on.  The  sense 
of  the  loss  of  friends  becomes  even  more  acute  as  the  inter 
ests  of  life  diminish.  Time  hushes,  but  does  not  console. 
The  manifestations  are  less  and  less,  but  the  void  is  deeper 
and  more  aching. 


352  Life  of  Catharine  J^f.  Sedgivick. 

"Lenox,  October  27,  1853.  I  have  just  come  from  my  min 
istrations  to  the  poor  jail-people.  I  do  wonder  if  I  do  them 
any  good.  I  have  faith  that  seed  may  germinate  at  any  dis 
tance  of  time — or  eternity."  * 

Miss  SerfgwtcA  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

From  a  charming  description  of  an  agreeable  evening  at 
Miss  Lynch's,  23d  March,  1854. 

"  There  was  a  Mr.  M.  too,  a  marked  young  man.  After 
telling  me  in  a  very  pleasant  way — which,  as  I  know,  it  re 
quires  an  immense  savoir  faire  to  know  how  to  do — how 
much  his  sister  and  himself  had  liked  my  books,  he  said  his 
sister  came  in  from  walking  one  day,  and  said, '  I  have  seen 
such  a  compliment  paid  Miss  Sedgwick !  I  saw  a  carman 
reading  in  the  crowded  street,  and  apparently  absorbed. 
I  crossed  the  , street,  determined  to  see  what  book  lie  had, 
and  it  was  "  Live  and  Let  Live  I"  Now,  dear,  don't  involve 
my  vanity  by  telling  this  to  any  one  but  W.  It  pleased  me 
so  much  that  I  could  not  keep  it  to  myself.11 

In  the  spring  of  1854  Miss  Sedgwick  and  her  brother 
Charles  were  invited  to  join  an  excursion  party  of  two  or 
three  hundred  people  to  visit  the  Falls  of  St.  Anthony,  the 
cities  of  St.  Paul  and  St.  Louis,  etc. 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mr.  Win.  Minot  ?r. 

"Utica,  May  30,  1854, 

"  MY  DEAR  WILLIAM, — You  and  Kate  will  be  glad  to 
know  that  we  are  this  one  step  prosperously  on  our  journey. 
I  had  many  misgivings  as  to  the  propriety  of  my  brother's 
undertaking  it,  and  all  opinions  were  against  it  except  his 
wife's  and  Dr.  Bailey's.  But  so  far  it  lias  proved  well.  Ow 
ing  to  a  change  in  the  running  of  the  cars,  we  did  not  leave 
Pittsfield  till  3  P.M.,  and  did  not  reach  Utica  till  half  past 


Lift  and  Letters.  353 

ten  ;  but  he  had  nice  naps,  an  excellent  dinner  at  Pittsfield, 
a  nice  tea  at  the  Delavan,  and  the  news  that  the  party  was 
to  be  conveyed  from  Chicago  to  the  Falls  of  St.  Anthony 
and  back  free  of  all  expense  !  This,  I  think,  set  him  up.  A 
bargain  is  the  delight  of  man's  as  well  as  woman's  heart, 
and  a  man  that  does  not  care  a  straw  for  gold  finds  his 
mercury  amazingly  affected  by  saving  it.  He  has  been  in 
fine  spirits,  and  really  seems  quite  well." 

Miss  Settgivick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  JMnot. 

"Chicago,  June  4,  1854. 

******  Your  father  has  kept  up  wonderfully.  He  was 
tired  last  night,  but  would  not  confess  it,  and  I  have  not  yet 
heard  the  report  this  morning.  He  has  certainly  borne  the 
journey  miraculously  ;  he  was  the  charm  of  the  boat — young 
men  hanging  about  him  to  hear  his  jokes. 

"FM. — Your  father  came  forth  bright  as  the  stars.  Stars  1 
'  There  is  a  glory  of  the  sun,1  and  (hat  is  his.  We  have 
been  dining  out  at  the  prettiest  place  in  Chicago,  and  had  a 
charming  service  at  the  Unitarian  Church,  and  a  commu 
nion,  and  your  father  staid,  and  it  was  truly  a  refreshing 
and  rest.  I  wish  I  could  give  you  any  notion  of  the  scene 
here.  It  is  something  new  in  the  world — the  meeting  at 
the  time  of  the  gift  of  tongues  was  tame  to  it.  There  are 
people  from  all  parts  of  the  country.  Many  people  of  note, 
names  long  known  and  honored — by  some:  President  Fill- 
more,  Thurlow  Weed,  General  Dix,  Bancroft,  Flagg,  Judge 
Oakley,  our  dear  beaming  Chancellor  M'Coun,  painters, 
writers,  sculptors,  traveling  Englishmen,  Scotchmen,  Ital 
ians,  young  ladies  and  old,  old  friends  meeting  in  the  door 
ways,  loud  and  glad  greetings,  all  with  their  'steam  up* — 
for  the  Mississippi.  Young  belles  dressed  for  conquest, 
quiet  interior  matrons,  young  American  lads,  men  of  all 
ages,  and  all  on  the  alert,  plumed.  To-morrow  we  start  for 


354  £jf*  °f  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 


Rock  Island  at  eight  with  a  band  of  music.  Five  steamers, 
all  chartered  for  the  Falls.  We  are  only  to  sail  during  wak 
ing  hours,  to  stop  at  the  mouths  of  all  the  great  rivers,  and 
if  we  /&//'/  blow  up  we  shall  have  a  grand  time.  I  am  now 
well  fired  up  ;  you  would  not  know  me  for  the  be-drooft* 
woman  that  parted  with  you  at  Lenox.  And  your  father  — 
his  mercury  has  got  to  the  very  top  of  the  scale  I  The  peo 
ple  stared  at  him  to-day  at  dinner,  and  laughed,  and  got 
more  social  vitality  into  them  than  they  ever  dreamed  of 
before." 


Miss  SalgiuU'k  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

"Mississippi  River,  Juno  9,  1854. 

"  Going  down  this  noblest  of  all  rivers  I  have  seen,  dear 
est  Kate,  like  a  bird  of  swiftest  passage.  We  are  now  one 
hundred  and  ninety  miles  above  Rock  Island,  and  expect  to 
arrive  there  to-morrow  at  7  A.M.  1  The  directors,  our  mag 
nificent  hosts,  have  extended  their  invitation  to  St.  Louis. 

"  Your  father  has  become  quite  fond  of  the  people.  Were 
there  ever  affections  so  abounding  —  so  plastic  !  His  health 
improves,  and  he  has  more  spirits  than  any  one  in  the  boat. 

"  I  can  not  begin  to  tell  you  what  we  have  enjoyed  in  this 
marvelous  passage.  I  can  not  leave  the  deck  long  enough 
to  describe  one  point  of  interest  and  beauty.  One  rainy  day 
only  gave  variety  to  the  scenery.  Yesterday  we  drove  over 
the  prairie  from  St.  Paul's  to  the  Falls  of  St.  Anthony,  to 
Minnchaha  —  Laughing  Water  —  a  fall  as  beautiful  as  the  Ve 
nus  de  Meclicis  —  and  to  Fort  Snclling.  It  was  a  day  better 
than  most  lifetimes." 

*  A  Dutch  word  Miss  Sedgwick  picked  up  in  her  early  days  in  Al 
bany,  and  was  fund  of  using.  The  spelling  is  conjectural,  hut  the  word 
evidently  corresponds  to  thu  German  bctrUbt,  and  has  the  aamc  mean 
ing. 


Life  and  Letters.  355 

Miss  Scttgwick  to  Mrs,  A".  S.  Minot. 

44  On  the  Mississippi,  June  u,  1854. 

"  We  are  running  between  Missouri  and  Wisconsin,  and, 
when  we  stop  *  to  wood'  or  take  in  freight,  we  run  on  shore 
and  hold  a  little  talk  with  the  lowans,  Wisconsians,  and  now 
the  Missourians.  There  is  proverbially  'no  Sunday  on  the 
river.'  At  the  bow-end  of  the  cabin,  on  one  side,  is  the 
clerk's  office,  on  the  other  is  the  bar.  On  this  boat,  owning 
and  serving  the  bar,  is  a  personification  of  Dickens's  *  fat 
boy.'  He  claimed  acquaintance  with  me  on  my  first  ap 
pearance  ;  showed  me  the  daguerreotypes  of  his  wife  and 
two  pretty  children ;  said  my  writings  lay  on  his  table  with 
these  treasures,  and  how  fond  his  *  ma1  was  of  them.  He 
begs  me  to  go  and  sec  her  at  St.  Louis ;  gives  me  *  Musca- 
tine  Journals'  and  *  Iowa  Gazettes'  to  read,  and  as  often  as 
I  pass  his  bar,  begs  me  to  stop  and  partake  his  ever-flowing 
hospitalities.  The  drinking  of  these  people  is  inconceiva 
ble  ;  still,  your  father  and  H.  say  they  have  not  seen  a 
drunken  person. 

"  At  St.  Louis  we  shall  have  come  nine  hundred  and  sev 
enty  miles  from  the  Falls  of  St.  Anthony  1  These  broad 
lands  are  the  preserves  of  the  Lord  of  earth's  manor  for  his 
children,  *  moulded  by  his  forming  hand'  into  an  excess  and 
perfection  of  beauty  that  is  truly,  Kate,  inconceivable.  It  is 
in  vain  to  say, '  Recall  the  most  beautiful  park-grounds  we 
saw  in  England,  the  velvet  lawns,  the  trees  of  centuries' 
growth,  and  then  imagine  them  stretching  to  the  utmost 
limit  of  sight ;  fancy  precipitous  hills,  as  steep  as  Monu 
ment  Mountain,  of  all  shapes,  soft  and  wavy,  and  then  run 
ning  up  into  aiguilles,  and  all  covered  with  this  velvet  car 
pet — trees  planted  in  lines,  in  copses,  in  groups,  in  orchards, 
and  here  and  there  belted  with  a  wall  of  sand  or  limestone, 
and  surmounted  with  the  most  perfect  mockeries  of  castle 


356  £fo  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

foundations,  and  turrets,  and  towers — like  the  Rhine  ;  for 
here  is  *  the  cat/  and  there  '  the  mouse  ;'  here  Stotzenfels, 
there  Rheinfels  and  Rheinstein  ;  and  yet  how  unlike  any 
thing  in  the  Old  World  1  So  fresh !  so  young  1  such  abound 
ing*  vigorous  vitality  I  Not  much  historical  embellishment ; 
and  yet  here  is  *  Mad-axe  ;'  here,  where  Black  Hawk  leaped 
on  the  bluff,  showed  his  red  flag  to  his  people,  and  fled ;  here, 
the  cross  that  La  Salic,  after  traversing  the  country  from 
Quebec,  planted  ;  and  here,  where  Miss  Bishop  landed  to 
inquire,  five  years  ago,  for  St.  Paul's  (four  miles  from  it),  and 
was  told  there  was  no  such  place.  The  New  England  mis 
sionary  girl  had  faith  in  her  instructions,  hired  two  Indian 
girls  to  paddle  her  in  a  canoe  to  the  site  of  St.  Paul's,  found 
two  white  families  there,  pitched  her  tent,  opened  her  school, 
had,  to  begin,  eight  white  children,  and  now  came  on  board 
to  tell  us  of  her  flourishing  boarding-school,  amid  five  thou 
sand  inhabitants ! 

"  Here  we  are  at  Hannibal.  The  '  Golden  Era*  coming 
up  ;  the  captain  says  we  have  '  half  an  hour  ;  will  you  go  on 
shore  ?'  In  half  a  minute  we  are  patroling,  like  old  citizens, 
the  streets  of  Hannibal,  Missouri.  I  had  put  my  bon-bons 
at  the  table  into  my  pocket  instead  of  my  stomach  (a  salu 
tary  substitution),  and  distributed  them,  Robin  Hood  fash 
ion,  among  the  black  and  white  children,  and  bought 'gold 
en  kisses'  from  bright  young  lips.  We  went  up  the  hill,  took 
a  wide  survey  of  the  beautiful  surroundings,  were  overtaken 
by  a  violent  gust  of  rain,  and  came  scudding  in.  I  will  not 
afflict  you  by  writing  more.  I  can  not  write  better  in  this 
jarring,  trembling  boat,  and  you  can  not  read. 

"Niagara  J*h/fs,  Sunday \  June  18,  1854.  Here  we  are 
again,  my  dear  child,  in  health  and  safety,  thanks  to  the 
providence  of  God,  and  going  out  of  this  Western  world  by 
the  glorious  gates  through  which  we  entered.  Yes,  dear 
k.ate,  how  I  wish  you  were  with  me  for  this  day's  ramble ! 


Life  and  Letters.  357 

We  have  continued  to  enjoy,  your  father  gaining  strength, 
and  by  his  infinite  diffusiveness,  and  power  of  love  almost 
divine,  giving  out  more  than  any  one  else  on  this  jaunt,  bind 
ing  people  together,  and  spreading  broad  sunshine  every 
where.  As  to  noise,  and  dust,  and  all  discomforts,  we  do  not 
talk  about  them,  or  care  much." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

"  Lenox,  June  24,  1854, 

"Mv  DEAREST  KATE, — My  journey  had  its  final  crown 
and  rejoicing  when  our  precious  little  Alice  sprang  out  of 
the  (lining-parlor  door  into  my  arms  as  I  alighted  from  the 
last  vehicle  of  our  long  travel.  Twenty  times  that  day  it 
had  occurred  to  me  '  what  a  delight  it  would  be  to  find  Alice 
at  Lenox  !'  but  with  no  expectation  of  finding  that  vision, 
that  seemed  to  me  to  rise  like  an  ignis fatuus  from  my  heart, 
realized.  It  was  very,  very  kind  of  you  and  William  to  send 
her.  Our  journey  was  prosperous  to  its  end.  Not  the 
slightest  accident — not  even  a  detention  of  more  than  fifteen 
minutes  in  a  journey  of  3740  miles  !  Providence  must  think 
better  of  rail-travel  than  William  does.  I  would  give  a  great 
deal  to  transfer  to  you  the  pictures  in  my  mind  of  Western 
life,  Western  cities,  illimitable  prairies,  and  those  beautiful, 
untrodden  shores  of  the  Upper  Mississippi.  No  American 
can  have  an  adequate  notion  of  the  future  destiny  of  this 
land,  of  its  unbounded  resources,  of  the  unlimited  provisions 
awaiting  the  coming  millions,  without  seeing — for  seeing  is 
believing — the  great  Valley  of  the  Mississippi,  and  measur 
ing  by  that  '  the  West1  beyond.  I  would  not  certainly  give 
up  one  of  our  hearthstones  for  it  all,  for  my  own  life,  but  it 
is  the  soil  for  the  young  to  take  root  and  spread  in ;  and  if 
they  will  but  take  with  them  the  elements  of  moral  as  well 
as  of  physical  growth,  there  need  be  no  failure  in  this  new 
world.  The  insane  avarice  of  our  people  is  worse  than  the 


358  £*fi  of  Catharine  M.  ScttgwicA. 

potato-rot,  and  how  the  real  worth  and  work  of  money  is  to 
be  got  into  their  heads  and  hearts  is  the  problem  to  be 
solved.  But  there  are  people  who  are  aware  of  their  mis 
sion,  and  are  *  about  their  Father's  business.1  We  saw  Mr. 
Eliot,*  of  St.  Louis,  who  is  said  to  have  a  wider  religious  and 
moral  influence  than  any  man  at  the  West  of  any  sect  ;  and 
one  of  the  proofs  is  that  he  makes  men  of  all  sects  tributary 
to  him,  and  co-operate  with  him.  The  day  we  were  there, 
Colonel  -  ,  their  Croesus  (a  man  of  a  different  faith 
from  Eliot),  gave  him  property  to  the  amount  of  $30,000  for 
an  industrial  school.  He  is  a  very  attractive  person,  with 
a  spirituality  and  refinement  that  reminds  you  of  Dr.  Chan- 
ning,  but  with  the  freedom,  frankness,  and  facility  that  be 
longs  to  a  more  practical,  out-of-doors  man." 


Miss  Sedgu*ick  to  Mrs.  A".  ,5". 

41  Stockbridgc,  August  13,  1854. 

******  The  event,  to  me,  of  the  past  week  was  a  very 
charming  visit  to  Sheffield.  Mr.  Dewey's  domestic  life  is 
beautiful  ;  it  is  to  his  fame  what  the  rose-tints  are  to  the 
white  rays  of  the  S....T.  His  mother  is  eighty-two,  with  all 
the  highest  attributes  of  ngc  and  none  of  its  infirmities. 
She  listens  to  her  son  as  to  an  oracle,  and  he  treats  her 
with  a  filial  tenderness  and  reverence  that  is  as  beautiful  as 
it  is  rare.  When  we  were  there  he  was  encompassed  by 
fifteen  womankind,  and  he  sat  among  us,  hour  after  hour, 
without  being  (seeming?)  weary  or  dull;  talking  wisely  or 
playfully,  and  always  with  an  afiectionateness  that  would  be 
called  womanly  in  a  less  manly  man.  The  old  house  has 
had  various  repairs  and  additions  (he  meditates  more)  ;  the 
old  homestead  is  neatly  kept,  the  old  trees  grow  to  vener- 
ableness,  and  the  simple  menage  is  ordered  with  the  utmost 
skill  and  ability.  I  never  saw  a  less  ostentatious,  or  a  more 
cordial  and  effective  hospitality." 

*  Rev.  I)r.  Eliot. 


L,ife  ami  Letters,  359 

Miss  Setlgwick  to  JRcv.  Dr.  Davcy. 

44  October,  1854. 

"  I  was  reading  Sydney  Smith's  life  when  I  received  your 
letter,  and  felt  as  if — in  Mesmeric  phrase — put  into  commu 
nication  with  you.  He  was  not  a  speculative,  perhaps  not 
a  spiritual  man.  There  are  some  men  in  whom  you  can 
see  wings  germinating,  but  Sydney  Smith  seems  to  me  like 
our  own  Franklin,  perfectly  fitted  for  his  sphere,  and  per 
fectly  performing  his  mission  in  that  sphere,  as  eminent  for 
his  good  practical  sense  as  for  the  universally-accepted  and 
unrivaled  charm  of  his  humor.  What  a  blessed  and  bless 
ing  temper  he  carried  into  his  restricted,  humble  life  in  York 
shire  !  What  a  lesson  to  us  country-folk  is  his  enjoyment 
of  *  Calamity,1  '  Peter  the  Cruel/  and  '  Bunch,1  and  the  cali 
co  shades  at  Foston  1  The  narrowness  of  his  income  (shame 
to  the  injustice  and  intolerance  of  the  most  civilized  of  civil 
ized  nations  !)  caused  no  wry  look  nor  querulous  word,  and 
yet  no  man  ever  set  a  truer  value  on  'gold  guineas,1  or  bet 
ter  loved  the  generosities  and  comforts  they  brought.  And 
what  a  flood  of  sunshine  he  poured  around  him  I  how  mer 
rily  he  sent  his  shafts,  so  charmed  by  the  holy  oil  of  his 
sweet  temper  that  the  healing  went  with  the  wound,  so  that 
those  oftencst  pierced  seemed  to  have  felt  only  a  pleasant 
sensation  I  Would  not  you  have  liked  to  have  been  one  of 
those  guests  rescued  from  the  '  Dumplin'  soirle?  Would 
you  not  have  been  Jeffrey  on  the  jackass  to  have  heard  the 
doggerel  salutation  ? — even  to  have  been  Jeffrey  without  it, 
heartily  reveling  with  those  rampaging  children  ?  Oh,  it  is 
a  charming  book !  I  thank  God  for  his  lovely  character, 
and  his  daughter  for  her  honest,  earnest  setting-forth  of  it. 
There  is  much  wisdom,  too,  in  his  theoretical  v'.ews  of  life, 
as  well  as  in  his  uses  of  it.  And  at  this  moment,  while  I 
am  shrinking  from  the  future,  I  am  rebuked  by  his  aclmoni- 


360  Life  of  Catharine  M. 

lions,  and  try  to  make  the  most  of  the  happy  present,  much 
as  the  light  is  diminished.  Charles  is  not  well,  and  I  look 
on  his  pale  face  with  a  cowardly  shrinking ;  yet,  my  dear 
friend,  I  think  I  have  gained  something  of  tranquillity  in 
looking  forward,  and  that  I  can  say  honestly  and  peacefully 
those  words  that  should  never  be  vainly  spoken,  as  they  im 
ply  the  triumph  of  faith — 'Thy  will  be  done  !'  " 

Jlfjss  Settgwick  to  Jlfrs.  A".  S.  AUnof. 

44  JLenox,  October  29, 1854. 

*  *  *  *  «  Your  father  read  aloud  after  breakfast  Henry 
Beecher's  sermon  on  the  loss  of  the  *  Arctic.1  I  seldom 
have  a  pleasure  that  I  do  not  wish  to  impart  to  you  and 
William,  and  if  I  can,  I  shall  get  this  sermon  for  you.  It  is 
adequate  to  the  great  tragedy  that  called  it  forth.  Its  sol 
emn,  exalted  eloquence  does  not  transcend  your  judgment. 
It  seems  to  me  that  language  could  scarcely  express  more 
effectively  the  meanings  of  that  fearful  wreck,  or  more  poet 
ically  describe  its  concomitants.  He  is  wrong,  I  think,  in 
making  the  commercial  calamities  of  the  last  four  years  a 
visitation  upon  the  Compromise  of  1850.  We  have  no  au 
thority  for  such  direct  applications  and  interpretations  of 
God's  judgments ;  but,  with  that  exception,  and  leaving  out 
two  or  three  phrases  and  words,  it  is  unquestionably  the  pro 
duction  of  a  great  head  and  great  heart.  It  invests  that 
awful  scene  with  a  religious  light,  and  sets  in  solemn  order 
the  great  truths  to  be  learned  from  it.  Beecher  is  a  great 
man  for  these  times  ;  *  bold,  but  not  too  bold ;'  outspoken, 
and  yet  speaking  advisedly,  and  with  the  power  of  genius 
and  scholarship  ;  having  those  sympathies  with  the  masses, 
and  intimate  fellowship  with  them,  which  he  imbibed  with 
his  mother's  milk,  in  the  plays  of  his  childhood,  and  the 
competitions  of  his  youth." 


Life  and  Letters.  361 


Miss  S&fgwJcfc  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Mi/to  '/,  after  a  long  visit  to  Wood- 

bourne. 

44  Lenox,  February  20,  1855. 

****«!  came  to  beci  as  wretched  as  Lyttleton's  night- 
howler  ;  no  softly-breathing  child  couched  at  my  feet,  no 
dear  close  neighborhood  of  beloved  ones,  no  unfailing 
warmth,  no  loving  green  arms  about  the  house  with  softly- 
whispering  music,  no  nibbling  mice  !  And  in  the  morning 
—  think  of  it,  Kate  I  —  why,  I  felt  like  one  pitched  out  of  a 
paradise  home  within  four  walls  (a  *  far  sight1  pleasanter 
than  Adam  and  Eve's  out-of-door  paradise)  into  a  snow 
bank,  with  no  stars,  twilight,  or  dawn." 

Miss  Stntgutic&  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

"Lenox,  June  24,  1855. 

****"!  heard  of  dear  Judge  Wilde's  death,  and  with 
him  has  dropped  the  last  link  that  bound  me  to  my  father's 
times,  and  passed  away  a  friend,  the  very  sight  of  whom 
made  this  life  pleasanter,  and  strengthened  the  assurance 
of  another  by  making  me  vividly  feel  there  was  no  possible 
destruction  of  such  qualities  as  made  his  life.  Another  sure 
and  pleasant  light  has  gone  out,  and  those  of  us  who  arc 
near  the  end  must  feel  the  dimness  that  it  makes.  But  God 
surely  has  been  merciful  not  longer  to  burden  his  weary  old 
faithful  servant." 

To  Mr.  IViilitiHi  Mi  not  Jr.t  who  was  passing  the  summer  at 
the  sea-shore. 

"  Lenox,  July  8,  1855. 

*  *  #  *  "There  is  something  to  me  solemn  in  the  sea 
shore  without  being  sad  ;  it  hallows  all  days  into  Lord's 
days  ;  it  makes  worship  spontaneous,  and  utters  a  full  an 
them  response  to  the  sublimest  tones  of  David's  psalms.  I 

Q 


362  JLifc  of  Catharine  M. 

have  never  been  familiar  enough  with  it  to  lose  the  awe  it 
first  inspired.  I  do  not  think  I  should  like  to  live  near  it. 
Its  grand  symphonies  would  overpower  the  sweet,  soft,  play 
ful,  bird-like  tones  of  happy  social  life.  Prophets  and  seers 
should  dwell  on  the  sea-shore,  and  apostles  and  martyrs 
learn  there  to  trample  the  earth  under  their  feet.  But  for 
*  common  doings,1  give  me  our  smiling  hill-sides  and  secure 
little  valleys.'1 


Miss  StdgiMcJs  to  Afrs.  A".  S.  Mi/tot. 

"Lenox,  July  i,  1855. 

"  DEAREST  KATE,  —  Is  it  not  a  morning  typifying  the  fur 
nace-heat  of  this  hot  summer-nu>nth/tor  A%vt'//tv/iv,  going  like 
a  hot  iron  to  the  very  marrow,  fierce,  destructive  ?  I  am  out 
of  humor  ;  the  plants  are  all  belated,  and  they  don't  gallop 
on  as  they  should  with  this  heat.  And  I  have  a  new  and 
most  insidious  enemy  —  a  little  green  worm  in  the  very  heart 
of  each  and  every  prairie  rose-bud,  eating  its  roseate  life  and 
beauty  out  of  it  —  a  malignant  little  devil,  corrupting  the  in 
nocent  life  of  all  my  little  vestals.'1 

Afiss  Stft/gw/f&  to  Afrs.  Charming* 

.  "Lenox,  July  27,  1855. 

****"!  have  felt  very  near  you  in  reading  the  pleas 
ant  report  of  William's*  intercourse  with  our  transatlantic 
brethren.  I  think  he  is  doing  good  there  in  many  ways, 
but  most  of  all  in  breaking  away  from  their  old  formulas, 
and  infusing  11  spirituality  —  a  spiritual  fife  into  his  ministra 
tions  which  English  preaching,  so  far  as  I  know  it,  seems  to 
me  very  devoid  of,  or  rather  deficient  in,  for  to  be  absolute 
ly  without  it  is  to  be  dead.  It  is  a  proof  of  William's  power 
that  they  take  instruction  meekly  from  him,  for  omniscience, 
you  know,  is  the  ordinary  gift  of  an  Englishman."  *  *  *  * 

*  Kcv.  \Vm.  II.  dimming,  then  preaching  in  Liverpool,  England. 


JLife  and  Letters.  •  363 

In  1855  there  was  much  sickness  and  anxiety  in  the  fam 
ily  circle,  and  in  the  autumn  of  that  year  Miss  Sedgwick 
passed  some  weeks  at  a  water-cure  with  an  invalid  niece. 
Returning  to  Lenox,  she  found  her  brother  Charles  still  suf 
fering  from  the  effects  of  an  attack  of  illness  the  preceding 
spring,  and,  as  her  anxious  tenderness  foreboded,  he  never 
recovered  his  health. 

Miss  Satgwu-A  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Mittot. 

"Lenox,  August  26,  1855. 

"  Monday  morning,  and  the  last  minute's  grace.  Oh, 
Kate,  what  a  morning  I  have  had  1  company  to  breakfast ; 
making  pies  and  custards  for  Mr.  M.,  your  Aunt  Jane,  etc., 
for  dinner,  while  K.  J.,  Here  to  spend  the  clay,  sat  by  to  read 
me  a  MS.  novel  I  Very  beautiful ! 

"22r.  AfundJs  ?f5f/«v-/W¥,  near  Northampton ,  October  7, 
1855.  *  *  *  *  I  have  just  come  from  reading  Samson  Ag- 
onistcs  to  L.  on  the  piazza,  half  frozen  ;  any  thing  out  of 
doors  a  regular  water-patient  can  bear.  They  supcradd  to 
their  human  endurance  that  of  birds  and  fishes.  This  es 
tablishment  would  please  you  if  it  were  but  a  reminiscence 
of  Germany.  I  can  hardly  believe  myself  in  the  heart  of 
Yankeeland.  The  doctor  is  completely  German,  quiet  and 
strong  like  their  old  Hartz  giants.  He  looks  like  a  victo 
rious  general.  His  wife,  too,  is  a  perfect  German,  uniting 
the  lady  and  the  housekeeper ;  the  arrangements  in  detail, 
and  all  the  operations,  arc  German.  It  is  an  admirably  or- 
dered  institution.  The  table  is  perfectly  neat,  bountifully 
supplied  with  the  permitted  edibles,  but  neither  love  nor 
money  obtain  favors.  The  provisions  are  uniformly  excel 
lent — bread,  delicious  butter,  cracked  wheat ;  farina,  pre 
pared  better  than  ever  I  saw  it ;  rice,  and  a  sort  of  German 
toast — cold,  of  course,  but  very  nice.  There  are  but  two 
women  to  wait  on  the  table — about  forty  present — and  I  have 


364  .-£#£  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

never  heard  a  word  spoken  to  them.  They  seem  both  Argus 
and  Briareus.  There  is  a  dumb-waiter  that  does  all  they  do 
not  do.  We  have  a  single  sort  of  meat  for  dinner,  always 
good,  prefaced  by  excellent  soup,  and  followed  by  excellent 
pudding,  and  accompanied  by  potatoes,  tomatoes,  and  rice, 
and  stewed  apples  or  prunes,  and  cabbage,  which  I  believe 
a  German  would  eat  on  his  death-bed.  *  And  Satan  came 
also  among  them,1  1  am  ready  to  exclaim,  when  the  maid 
sets  it  down  among  its  innocent  compeers." 


Miss  S&igwjf/s  to  Mrs,  A".  S.  Afinot. 

••  Lenox,  October  21,  1855. 

#  *  *  *  "Your  father  will  tell  you  how  much  he  has 
been  relieved  by  the  adjournment  ofthc  court  till  November. 
*  *  *  *  -\yc  can  not;  conceal  from  ourselves  that  he  is  in  a 
very  delicate  state  ;  and  sometimes,  dear  Kate,  when  I  look 
at  him,  I  feel  as  if  he  were  on  the  verge  of  a  translation  ; 
less  of  a  change,  when  it  comes,  will  it  be  to  him  than  to  al 
most  any  man  who  has  passed  through  the  earthly  life,  so 
completely  has  he  filled  his  with  love  and  goodness.  What 
will  the  world  be  to  me  without  him  ?  Our  separation  can 
not  be  long  —  for  the  rest  God  will  provide." 

Mr.  Charles  Sedgwick  died  on  the  third  of  August  in  the 
following  summer.  The  lovely  record  of  his  character  is 
written  indelibly  on  the  hearts  of  all  who  knew  him.  His 
sister's  love  for  him  had  been  intensified  by  time  and  by  the 
loss  of  all  her  immediate  family  beside,  but  no  one  ever 
thought  her  adoring  affection  unwarranted  by  its  object. 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Mi/to  /. 

"  Lenox,  August  2,  1856, 

"  Mv  BELOVED  CHILD,  —  I  got  William's  letter  last  even 
ing.  God  bless  him  for  his  most  sweet  words  of  comfort. 


Life  and  Letters.  365 

Your  father  hncl  quite  a  comfortable  day,  comparatively,  all 
through  yesterday ;  talked  a  good  deal,  and  slept  without 
talking  much  in  his  sleep  ;  spoke  often  of  his  delicious, 
splendid  day.  Three  clays  ago,  when  he  was  very  low,  your 
mother  said,  *  It  is  hard  Kate  can't  be  with  us  ;'  he  said, '  I 
think  I  shall  see  the  little  thing  yet.1  And  yesterday  both 
13.  and  I  had  a  hope  he  might ;  but  these  are  weak  earthly 
desires  ;  a  higher  love  than  ours  awaits  him,  the  brightness 
and  happiness  of  which  his  whole  life  and  character  are  a 
type.  He  shrinks  from  pain,  he  hates  daftness,  he  recoils 
from  sorrow — they  are  all  earthly  conditions — and  oh  I  God 
grant  us  the  faith  and  the  love  that  goes  beyond  ;  grant  us 
willingness  to  have  this  harassing  struggle  end,  to  suffer 
that  he  may  rejoice.  He  has  had  a  poor  night  and  a  rest 
less  morning,  but  is  now  sleeping  quietly.  He  looks  very 
sweetly,  his  face  calm,  and,  for  one  so  ill,  not  distressful. 
Bless  William  for  his  letter.  Tell  him  it  folds  around  my 
heart  and  staunches  the  bleeding.  Dearest  Kate,  continue 
calm  and  cheerful.  You  have  been  a  stay  to  your  father 
all  your  life.  For  your  own  sake,  for  your  husband's,  for 
the  little  one,  whom  God  bless  to  you,  cherish  all  sweet  and 
comforting  thoughts.  Don't  make  any  unusual  effort.  Na 
ture  must  have  her  dues.  *  *  *  *  Each  waits  their  turn 
to  do  all  that  he  or  she  can  do.  E.  is  now  at  his  side.  F. 
is  devoted.  W.  is  sweet  and  most  helpful.  Dear  little  G. 
all  she  can  be,  and  your  mother  never  leaves  him  except 
for  her  meals  and  required  sleep.  She  is  a  good  deal  let 
down,  but  I  think  she  will  be  enabled  to  go  through  unfal 
teringly.  The  Stockbridge  friends  are  here  every  day,  and 
all  friends  thronging  to  offer  aid  and  express  kindness.  The 
seed  he  has  sown  at  broadcast  springs  up  and  yields  the  fit 
ting  harvest." 


366  JLife  of  Catharine  Jlf,  Sedgwick. 


Afiss  Scdgwick  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Afinot, 

"  Lenox,  August  4, 1856. 

"  MY  DEAREST  CHILD, — I  want  to  put  my  arms  around 
you,  and  see  you  look  up  in  faith  and  love  ;  but  I  could  not 
be  more  assured  than  I  am  that  you  thank  God  fervently 
that  the  last  pang  is  over,  and  that  your  blessed  father  has 
gone  from  the  heaven  he  made  for  us  to  the  heaven  that 
awaited  him.  Yes,  the  'good  and  faithful  servant  has  en 
tered  into  the  j*y  of  his  Lord.'  His  mind  was  perfectly 
clear  up  to  the  last  hour.  The  last  day  was  a  day  of  con 
tinual  oppression,  excepting  for  an  hour  or  two  at  twilight, 
when  he  slept.  He  took  a  part  of  a  cup  of  tea  from  me  at 
the  usual  time.  His  hardest  night  was  Friday.  H.  watched, 
and  even  then  his  spirit  rose  above  his  mortal  conflict,  and 
he  talked  with  him  about  Kansas,  and  urged  exertion  to  be 
made  to  secure  the  Irish  vote  for  Fremont.  And  now,  re 
lieved  of  the  mortal  pressure,  how  has  his  spirit  expanded ! 
I  am  sure  you  and  William  will  always  rejoice  in  Alice  be 
ing  with  us.  She  has  been  a  consoling  angel.  Even  on 
Saturday,  when  it  was  labor  to  your  father  to  speak,  he  asked 
me 'where  is  Alice?  She  is  a  sweet  little  creature.'  His 
last  kiss  was  given  to  her  ;  take  it  from  her  lips,  dear  Kate, 
and  feel  that  a  breath  of  love  was  in  it  for  you.  I  hesitated, 
after  William's  request  to  me,  about  taking  her  into  the  room, 
but  after  going  up,  and  seeing  how  sweet  he  looked— how 
far  more  like  himself  than  in  the  last  scenes,  and  asking  B. 
and  all,  I  decided  to  take  her  up,  and  thought  there  could 
never  be  less  of  shock  in  the  sight  of  death.  She  went,  and, 
so  far  from  recoiling,  she  stood  by  him  of  her  own  impulse, 
stroked  his  hair  and  beard,  as  she  used  whenever  she  ap 
proached  him,  kissed  him,  and  continued  to  hold  his  hand 
in  hers.  How  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  There  lay  that  head 
in  its  natural  posture,  a  little  on  one  side — a  head  more  ex- 


Lift:  and  Letters.  367 

pressive  of  dignity  and  sweetness  never  was.  Last  night, 
when  she  was  undressing,  she  said,  '  Is  it  not  pleasant  to 
think  grandpapa's  spirit  may  be' in  the  room  with  us?'" 

Just  one  week  after  Mr.  Charles  Sedgwick's  death  the 
expected  "  little  one"  appeared  at  Woodbourne,  and  the 
news  brought  the  first  throb  of  happiness  to  Miss  Sedg 
wick's  heart  in  that  dark  hour  of  bereavement  and  desola 
tion.  She  felt  from  that  time  as  if  the  child  were  sent  as  a 
special  gift  of  consolation  to  her ;  her  affection  was  even 
increased  when  he  received  the  beloved  name  of  Robert, 
and  she  cherished  for  him  always  a  peculiar  tenderness  and 
•devotion. 

Miss  Sctlgwick  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

"  Lenox,  August  17,  1856. 

*##<*««  You  know — you  all  know  how  my  heart  turns 
to  you  ;  how  the  light  truly  shines  from  the  east  upon  my 
darkened  spirit.  But,  my  dear  Kate,  I  can  not  leave  here 
for  the  present  ;  here  only  the  vacant  places  answer  to  the 
cries  of  my  spirit ;  here  the  form  has  not  departed.  I  see 
my  brother  on  the  sofa — on  the  piazza.  I  spread  his  table 
for  him.  I  start  at  the  sound  of  his  voice.  I  go  down  into 
the  garden,  and  look  at  the  '  corn/  and  the  *  Lima  beans/ 
and  the  '  tomatoes,'  and  tell  him  how  they  arc  growing.  He 
still  sits  at  my  chamber  window  ;  his  light,  as  well  as  his 
shadow,  is  every  where  ;  and  while  the  summer  lasts,  the 
season  that  bears  his  visible  impress,  I  can  not  go  away." 

Miss  Scdgunck  to  Rev.  Dr.  Dewcy. 

44  Lenox,  September,  1856. 

*#**«« Here  I  cling,  for  here  still  lingers  the  twilight 
of  my  day.  Here  every  object  is  associated  with  my  broth 
er — with  sweet  memories  of  pleasant  or  loving  words,  and 


368  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Serfgwick. 

looks,  and  deeds.  There  is  not  one  bitter  thought — no  fail 
ure.  His  life  was  one  angel  visit  from  beginning  to  end  ; 
and,  saying  this  without  exaggeration,  can  I — dare  I  com 
plain  ?  I  know  that  gratitude  for  the  past  and  faith  for  the 
future  are  my  duty.  I  am  not  '  brave,'  dear  friend,  but  I 
try  to  be  unreserved  in  my  submission,  and  to  give  myself 
to  all  cheerful  influences," 

Miss  St!<tgiw'c'k  to  Mrs,  Russell. 

44  Lenox,  September  14,  1856. 

*  *  *  *  "The  loss  of  my  brother  has  been  the  greatest 
that  could  happen  to  me — to  me  he  comprehended  all  rela 
tions.     There  was,  while  he  lived,  a  sweet  breath  of  life  and 
love  through  the  great,  aching,  vacant  space  made  by  the 
departure  of  all  my  other   nearest  kindred  ;   and  now,  my 
dear  friend,  I  have  a  sense  of  solitude  that  I  find  it  very 
hard  to  bear.     What  he  lias  been  to  me  not  even  my  ach 
ing,  longing  spirit  can  tell.     His  unfailing  tender  care  ;  his 
genial  sympathy  with  every  joy  as  well  as  sorrow  ;  the  glad 
ness  he  put  into  my  life  ;  the  sorrows  he  rooted  out  of  it. 
Oh,  I  am  not  ungrateful  for  all  that  remains — for  friends 
kinder  and  more  loving  than  I  have  a  right  to  ask  or  ex 
pect — but  he  is  gone  who  made  me  feel  my  wants  to  be 
rights — who  never  disappointed  an  expectation.      But,  my 
dear  friend,  I  do  not  often — I  will  not  now — complain.      I 
have  an  immeasurable  joy  in  thinking  of  the  completeness 
of  his  life  ;  of  how  many  loved  him,  and  remember  him  as 
having  taught  them,  through  his  beautiful  life,  what  human 
ity  may  be.     All  barriers  fell  before  the  power  of  his  good 
ness  ;  bigoted  Calvinists  gave  up  their  creeds,  saying  he  had 
taught  them  they  were  nothing.     'The  life  was  all  ;'  and  his 
poor,  ignorant  Catholic  friends,  as  they  wailed  over  his  sweet 
form,  forgot  their  Purgatory,  and  said, '  He  is  in  heaven.' 
But  think,  my  dear  friend,  when  the  light  is  withdrawn  that 


JLife  and  Letters.  369 

gave  beauty  to  every  thing  here,  what  the  home  must  be ! 
But  still  there  is  a  twilight  upon  it,  and  here  I  meet  him  and 
here  I  see  him  in  his  cheerful  days,  when  the  step  was  light 
and  the  voice  strong." 

The  next  letters  refer  to  "  Married  or  Single,"  the  last  lit 
erary  work  of  its  author,  which,  after  Mr.  Charles  Sedgwick's 
death,  it  cost  her  a  great  effort  to  complete. 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Jlev.  Dr.  Dewcy. 

"  New  York,  March,  1857. 

"My  DEAR  FRIEND, — You  are  coming  here  to  stay  two 
or  three  weeks  !  And  you  may  imagine  how  much  I  am  ex 
pecting,  for  now  we  shall  have  no  snow-storms,  and  no  fall 
ing  of  the  mercury  that  freezes  every  thing  but  the  heart. 
I  was  glad  you  did  not  come  to  Woodbourne.  Friendships 
that  need  '  proofs'  are  flimsy  affairs ;  I  can  not  imagine  any 
thing  that  should  weaken  ours,  and  I  look  forward  with  a 
joyful  faith  to  its  infinite  growth.  What  must  be  the  joys 
that  the  heart  can  not  conceive,  when  those  that  it  can  lift 
us  out  of  all  this  muddle  ! 

*  *  *  *  «  I  am  getting  a  book  ready,  and  working  as  hard 
as  I  dare,  and  therefore  can  not  write  letters.     Is  it  not  rath 
er  a  folly  (is  it  worse  ?)  at  my  time  of  life  to  perpetrate  a 
novel  without  any  purpose  or  hope  to  slay  giants,  slavery, 
or  the  like,  but  only  to  supply  mediocre  readers  with  small 
moral  hints  on  various  subjects  that  come  up  in  daily  life?" 

Miss  Stdgwick  to  Mrs;  K.  S.  Minot. 

"New  York,  April  2, 1857. 

*  *  *  #  «  My  book  gets  on  very  well — from  eighteen  to 
twenty-one  pages  a  day.  *  *  *  *  I  have  the  miserable  feel 
ing  of  incompetence  for  my  task  ;  and  sometimes,  when  my 
feeble  interest  in  the  future  of  my  offspring  is  overcome,  and 

Q2 


370  Life  of  Catharine  Jlf.  Sedgwitk. 

my  old  desire  of  success  gets  the  better  of  me,  I  feel  worried, 
and  anxious,  and  utterly  discouraged.  A  great  deal  of  the 
whole  needed  copying,  and  much  of  it  to  be  copied  by  my 
self;  so  you  may  imagine  that  I  have  worked  and  am  work 
ing  pretty  hard  —  up  to  my  last  ounce  of  strength.  But  I 
am  very  well,  and  if  there  is  no  fatal  mistake,  omissions,  or 
transpositions  of  pages  or  chapters  from  my  weak  memory, 
I  shall  be  content.  The  book  can't  hurt  any  body,  and  it 
may  be  to  some  like  a  sprinkle  in  a  dry  time  —  lay  the  dust 
for  a  little  while.  But  oh,  dear  Kate,  there  are  moments 
when  the  full  sense  of  my  loneliness  comes  over  me  —  when 
I  think  of  all  those  whose  hearts  beat  for  me,  and  more  than 
mine,  at  the  publication  of  my  early  books,  all  gone,  and  he 
who  shared  and  lightened  every  anxiety,  and  blessed  all 
happiness  —  and  then  my  strength  all  goes,  and  I  stop.  But 
better  thoughts  come  —  grateful  thoughts  for  what  remains 
to  me.'1 


Miss  Sedgwick  to  2tev.  Dr. 

41  Lenox,  July  19,  1857. 

****"!  shall  send  you,  in  the  course  of  the  week,  my 
new  book.  I  hate  to  )  I  thought  I  cared  very  little  about 
it,  but  I  have  overrated  both  my  philosophy  and  my  religion, 
and  when  I  found  a  huge  parcel  of  the  things  which  I  or 
dered  to  give  to  some  of  my  peculiar  friends,  I  could  have 
burned  them  all  if  I  could  have  burned  the  rest  with  them  ( 
We  are  told  not  to  think  of  ourselves  better  than  we  ought 
to  think,  but  there  is  one  thing  more  important  and  more 
difficult  —  to  be  satisfied  that  those  we  most  love  should  not 
think  of  us  better  than  we  deserve.  All  I  now  hope  —  my 
spirits  are  rather  low  —  is  that  my  friends  may  not  be  morti 
fied  either  by  the  silence  of  the  critics  or  their  comments. 
The  public,  of  course  —  and  the  public  is  right  —  takes  no  ac 
count  of  the  sad  and  wandering  states  of  mind  in  which  you 


Life  and  Letters.  371 

have  written.  But  don't  feel  bad  for  me,  my  dear  friend, 
and  do  not  let  your  wife.  *  *  *  *  My  happiness  is  not  at 
the  mercy  of  success  or  failure." 

Miss  Sedgwifk  to  Afrs.  A'.  S.  Minot. 

"  Stockbriclgc,  July  20,  1857. 

*  *  *  *  «  I  -g0t  i|0me  about  10  o'clock  Saturday  night, 
pretty  well  fagged  out,  so  that  I  did  not  bear  well  the  shock 
of  seeing  my  book  really  out,  and  at  every  one's  mercy.  But 
that  was  lost  in  the  vexation  of  that  horrid  English  copy. 
That  they  should  print  it  in  that  shabby  style  was  mortify 
ing  enough.  But  that,  I  suppose,  I  could  not  object  to  ;  they 
had  a  right  to  make  the  commodity  most  marketable.  But 
do  you  know  what  else  they  have  done  ? — omitted  the  pref 
ace,  which,  being  the  greater  part  written  by  H.,  I  was  sure 
was  worth  printing ;  changed  the  motto,  all  the  captions  to 
the  chapters,  inserted  running-titles  for  the  chapters,  and 
varied  the  text — how  much  I  do  not  know,  but  on  two  chance 
openings  I  found  two  most  mortifying  alterations  :  one,  when 
Uncle  Walter  exclaims, '  "  The  devil  take  her  I"  (pardon  him ; 
he  was  an  old-fashioned  man),'  they  have  substituted  *  Out 
upon  her  I1  which,  besides  being  an  exclamation  not  fitting 
my  character,  makes  the  plea  for  him  ridiculous.  Then  for 
suspect  (in  a  letter  of  the  heroine)  they  have  put  expect, 
in  the  vulgar  use  of  the  word.  Heaven  knows  how  many 
worse  things  I  shall  find.  I  shall  write  to  Mr.  Child,  who  I 
know  will  lovingly  do  me  a  service,  to  inquire  of  Ticknor  £ 
Fields  the  best  mode  of  righting  myself.  Oh !  they  have 
printed  '  The  Aullibr's  Edition,'  which  covers  with  my  name 
the  whole  thing." 

Miss  Stdgwick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

"  I.cnox,  August  5,  iSsa 
"  MY  DEAREST  KATE, — After  having  heard  of  the  severe 


372  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

attack*  I  had  on  Sunday  evening,  I  know  you  will  be  glad 
to  be  assured  by  my  own  hand  that,  except  a  little  weakness 
and  slight  dregs  of  cough,  I  am  as  well  as  when  you  left  me. 
My  rheumatism  is  much  the  same — less,  I  think,  rather,  than 
it  was.  The  illness,  though  rather  frightful,  lasted  but  a 
short  time,  but  long  enough  to  make  me  feel  keenly  the  re 
sponsibility  of  a  spared  life,  and  deeply  grateful  for  the  love 
and  care  manifested  on  all  sides.'1 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  Channiug. 

"  Lenox,  August  7,  1858. 

*  *  *  *  «  j  received  your  last  while  I  was  in  New  York, 
and  not  very  pleasantly  occupied,  and  I  had  an  impression 
that  I  answered  it  immediately ;  but  we  are  (I  am)  so  apt 
to  confuse  intentions  with  performances,  that  I  now  do  not 
doubt  it  was  one  of  those  easy  letters  which  we  write  men 
tally  and  seal  up  in  our  hearts,  and  forget  that  we  have  not 
yet  quite  come  to  that  spiritual  state  when  we  may  dispense 
with  the  intervention  oPYnaterial  signs.  Your  steady  affec 
tion  and  incorporation  with  my  family  ties  has  been,  and  is, 
one  of  the  great  blessings  of  my  life.  As  we  near  the  end 
we  feel  more  and  more  acutely  the  value  of  those  treasures 
that  are  laid  up  in  heaven,  and  have  not  a  mortal  destiny, 
and  I  think  we  feel,  too,  that  nothing  else  is  of  much  worth. 
The  shadows  are  fast  flying,  the  throngs  of  fellow-creatures 
that  have  obstructed  us  through  life  fade  away,  and  the  real 
people  remain,  and  come  out  brighter  and  brighter,  like  the 
stars  ns  the  day  recedes."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Sedgtuick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

0  Stock  bridge,  January  ir,  1859. 

"  DEAR  KATE, — I  came  down  here  yesterday  after  a  very 
good,  or  rather  startling  P.M.  sermon  from  Mr.  Pynchon, 

*  Spasmodic  croup. 


Life  and  Letters.  373 

which  left  me  no  reasonable  expectation  that  I  should  not 
be  '  cut  down'  this  year,  and  considerable  anxiety  as  to  how 
J  should  lie  in  that  case.  Anxiety?  No,  I  can  not  say  that ; 
whether  it  be  the  dullness  of  age,  or  (as  I  hope)  a  strength 
ening  faith  in  the  Fatherly  goodness  that  has  followed  me 
all  the  clays  of  my  life,  I  am  not  easily  frightened  about  the 
obscure  future.  It  is  true,  as  the  child  said  of  darkness  in 
general,  I  do  not  know  *  what  is  in  it/  but  I  am  sure  there  is 
nothing  that  Wisdom  and  Goodness  does  not  appoint. 

"  It  is  a  fearfully  cold  morning — seventeen  degrees  be 
low  zero  at  8  o'clock  ;  and  I,  though  I  had  lain  '  uneasy'  as  a 
monarch  with  a  crown  all  night,  being  stiff  with  old  age  and 
growling  rheumatism,  went  nearly  to  the  bridge  before  break 
fast,  and  saw  the  sun  rising  in  a  golden  flood  of  light,  the 
rocky  bluffs  of  *  Monument/  as  Solomon  would  say,  *  as  a 
bride  at  the  coming  of  the  bridegroom/ and  the  whole  cir 
cuit  of  mountains  that  guard  this  sacred  valley  lighting  up 
as  the  gates  of  heaven  opened.  The  smokes  from  the  vil 
lage  rose  in  solid  white  columns,  and  not  a  footstep  outside 
the  dwellings  save  G.,  and  his  lips  were  too  stiff  to  answer 
to  my  salutation.  I  remembered  William's  repeated  cau 
tion  to  me,  and  felt,  in  my  toes  and  fingers,  that  discretion 
was  much  the  better  part  of  old  age's  valor." 

Notwithstanding  many  sorrows,  Miss  Sedgwick's  had  been 
a  very  happy  as  well  as  useful  life ;  but  the  point  was  now 
reached  after  which  all  change  must  almost  necessarily  be 
that  of  separation  and  loss.  In  her  few  remaining  years,  all 
her  sisters-in-law  were  called  to  go  before  her,  and  she  was 
left  the  sole  survivor  of  four  brothers  and  their  wives,  of  two 
sisters  and  their  husbands. 

Mrs.  Harry  Sedgwick  was  the  first  to  go,  dying  in  1859. 
With  her  Miss  Sedgwick's  ties  had  always  been  peculiarly 
close  and  tender,  and  only  a  short  time  previous  she  had 


374  £(fi  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

written  of  her, '  I  am  never  with  this  precious  sister,  who  has 
been  a  cornucopia  of  blessing  to  us,  without  feeling,  as  old 
Herbert  has  it  in  his  quaint  phraseology,  that  "  hearts  with 
in  have  propagation,"  and  that  "she  has  a  whole  heart  for 
each  one  that  she  loves."  And  Mrs.  Sedgwick's  affection 
never  varied  in  return,  from  the  time  shortly  after  her  mar 
riage,  when  she  wrote,  "  If  you  ever  need  a  sweet  solace  in  a 
lonely  hour,  dearest  Kate,  think  of  what  you  have  been  to 
me,  and  feel  secure  of  God's  blessing  for  your  reward." 
And  again — 

"The  time  I  have  just  passed  with  you  is  without  a  parallel 
in  the  history  of  my  pleasures.  There  never  can  be  a  spot 
which  shall  form  a  centre  so  dear  to  our  family  as  Stock- 
bridge,  so  deserving  the  name  of  home  to  us  all.  My  right 
to  call  it  so  is  only  adopted  ;  I  can  not  make  the  same 
blood  as  yours  run  in  my  veins,  but  I  trust  I  can  imbibe 
the  same  principles  and  feelings  which  have  made  that  blood 
sacred  to  you." 

Miss  Sctlgwitk  to  Mrs.  Russell,  after  the  death  of  Mrs.  Jfarry 

Sedgwicfc. 

"  Woodbournc,  March  10,  1859. 

"It  was  natural  that  I  should  turn  to  you,  dear  Lucy. 
You  have  known  Jane  as  long  as  I  have,  and  have  loved  her 
as  long  as  you  have  known  her.  Our  sympathies  have  run 
along  parallel.  There  is  now  no  one  to  revert  with  us  to 
those  glad  days  that  were  filled  with  social  cheerfulness, 
with  hopes  some  fulfilled,  and  some  so  long  ago  disap 
pointed  that  they  are  now  but  as  dreams.  What  days  they 
were,  dear  Lucy,  when  the  little  church  gathered  in  Broome 
Street,  and  your  brother  ministered  at  its  sacred  altar ;  when 
Jane's  swe*t  voice  rose  above  all  others  in  that  small  com 
pany  ;  when  we  used  to  meet  at  your  house  and  at  hers,  in 
life  so  simple  and  yet  so  rich !  When  Harry  and  Robert 


Life  and  Letters.  375 

were  with  us,  and  we  had  one  heart,  and  dear  Jane  minis 
tering  to  all.  How  many  years  have  passed  since  1  What 
a  train  of  joys  and  sorrows  to  each  and  all  of  us  1  And  yet, 
let  us  thank  God,  the  love  and  trust  are  unbroken.  We  are 
one  company  yet.  A  part  have  gone  before  us,  but  when  I 
can  rise  above  the  feeling  of  vacancy  and  chill,  I  feel  they 
have  not  left  us,  and  whither  they  have  gone  we  too  shall 
soon  go." 

The  latter  part  of  the  next  letter  refers  to  the  funeral  of 
an  infant  daughter  of  Mrs.  Charles  E.  Butler,  a  niece  pecul 
iarly  dear  to  Miss  Sedgwick. 


Miss  Sa/givit'k  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

"  New  York,  June  5,  1859. 

"  MY  DEAREST  KATE,  —  I  have  just  come  from  the  morn 
ing  service  at  our  church,  where  I  have  been  once  more  per 
mitted  to  receive,  through  our  dear  pastor  and  friend's  dis 
pensation,  the  communion.  H.  and  N.  were  there.  But  the 
crowd  of  images  around  me,  the  sad  and  the  blessed  mem 
ories,  the  real  loneliness,  and  the  clasped  hands  and  living 
eyes  that  I  feel  and  see,  are  something  strange  even  to  me, 
familiar  as  I  should  be  with  these  strange  contrarieties,  that 
follow  upon  my  heart  with  the  suddenness  of  chill  and  fever 
to  the  body.  There  is  a  wonderful,  an  awful  power  in  this 
simple  observance.  To  me  it  is  like  those  moments  when 
persons  are  suddenly,  in  the  strength  of  life,  brought  face  to 
face  with  death.  The  past  life,  its  failures,  its  frivolities,  its 
sins,  its  supremest  joys  and  keenest  sorrows,  are  revived 
with  all  the  vitality  of  the  actual  and  the  present,  and  on 
the  tempest  breaks  the  light  of  Goal's  infinite  mercy,  the  ten 
derness  of  Christ's  sympathy.  The  bread  Is  the  body  broken 
for  our  sins  ;  the  wine  is  the  blood  shed  for  them. 

"Jlfonday  morning.   The    service   was  performed  by  Mr. 


376  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick* 

Bellows  as  he  does  all  these  domestic  services,  as  if  his  lips 
were  touched  with  a  coal  from  the  altar  of  love,  to  which  all 
hearts  in  sorrow  come.  It  was  most  affecting  to  see  the  lit 
tle  creature  lying  in  her  bed  of  flowers,  and  baptized,  as  it 
were,  into  immortality,  where  she,  so  little  while  ago,  received 
the  solemn  rite  for  her  earthly  pilgrimage." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Airs.  jRackemann. 

"  Woodbourne,  December  31,  1859. 

"  The  last  time,  dear  Bessie,  that  I  shall  write  this  year. 
It  is  now  u,  and  beginning  on  the  last  solemn  hour  of  the 
year — so  solemn  that  I  might  be  coward  enough  to  slink  to 
my  bed  and  forget  it;  but  I  do  not  feel  cowardly — thank 
God  I  do  not.  The  cords  that  bind  me  to  life  arc  so  firm 
that  death  can  not  part  them,  so  clastic  that  space  in  no 
wise  controls  them.  I  feel  such  a  sense,  dear  Bessie,  of  the 
mercies  that  have  followed  me  to  this  last  station  of  human 
life,  that  it  would  be  the  supremest  folly,  as  well  as  ingrati 
tude,  not  to  trust  for  the  future.  Those  that  I  began  life 
with  in  my  dear  and  most  blessed  home  have  all  reached 
the  other  shore.  There  arc  times  when  I  am  crushed  with 
this  thought.  Now,  there  is  peace  in  it.  I  feel  that  the  chain 
is  not  broken,  and  that  I  am  the  connecting  link  between 
them  and  their  families  on  earth.  And  in  these  families 
what  love,  and  beauty,  and  blossoming  for  heaven  there  is  J 
This  has  been  a  year  of  the  sorest  trial,  of  loss  to  me,  that 
you,  as  well  as  any  other  than  myself,  can  measure.  Your 
Aunt  Jane  was  my  dearest  friend  on  earth,  and  yet  how 
many  cheerful  hours  the  year  has  given  me  !  I  remember 
them  ;  they  have  sustained  me.  And  how  many  of  them 
we  had  together  at  Lenox !  You  will  think  of  them  some 
times  when  I  am  gone,  and  whon  you  feel  low,  my  darling, 
remember  you  have  been  a  joy  as  well  as  a  sweet  consola 
tion  to  me.  You  have  fulfilled  your  father's  will,  realized 


Life  and  Letters.  377 

his  wish,  and  continued  the  influence  of  his  love  in  his 
home  ;  and  so,  truly,  have  all  his  children,  and  their  mother. 
Am  I  writing  a  sad  letter  to  you  ?  I  did  not  mean  to.  I 
let  William  and  Kate  go  off  to  bed,  and  sat  down  to  write 
cheerily.  Never  were  children  bound  by  prescribed  duty, 
and  impelled  by  filial  instinct,  kinder  than  they  are  to  me." 

Miss  Set/gntif&  to  Mrs.  Channing. 

••  Woodbournc,  March  10,  1860. 

"  MY  DEAR  FuiiiND, — I  have  not  written  to  you  since  the 
death  of  Eliza,*  an  event  in  which  our  hearts  were  blended. 
Her  affection  has  been  a  precious  boon  to  both  our  lives, 
her  life  full  of  rich  memories,  her  character  a  light  from 
heaven — an  assurance  of  immortality,  so  much  is  there  in  it 
of  that  vitality  which  death  can  not  touch.  I  have  not  ex 
perienced  in  her  death  any  thing  of  that  tremulousness,  that 
clouded  perception,  that  failure  of  faith,  that  recoiling  from 
the  extinguishing  touch  of  death  that  I  sometimes  am  haunt 
ed  with  ;  partly,  perhaps,  because  I  did  not  witness  the  pro 
cess  of  mortality.  I  heard  of  her  illness  only  the  day  before 
I  heard  of  her  death,  and  I  would  not  look  at  her  after  the 
light  of  her  glowing  eye  was  veiled,  so  that  to  my  perception 
she  passed  over  the  gulf  and  into  her  inheritance.  I  did 
not  sec  her  after  I  came  to  Woodbourne.  I  was  purposing 
to  go  over  to  Brookline,  but  put  it  off  with  that  reckless  de 
lay  which,  in  spite  of  experience,  clings  to  us  to  the  last,  as 
if  we  had  a  secure  grant  of  the  future.  She  wrote  to  me  an 
earnest  invitation  to  go  with  her  to  her  annual  festival.!  I 
declined  it,  assigning  to  her  the  true  reason,  that  I  shrunk 
from  being  with  her  on  an  occasion  to  her  of  the  most  ele 
vating  excitement  which  I  did  not  partake.  My  feelings 
(perhaps  I  should  say  my  judgment)  would  recoil  when  hers 

*  Mrs.  Eliza  Cabot  Follcn. 

t  The  meeting  of  the  Ami-slavery  Society. 


378  Lift:  of  Catharine  Af.  Setlgwick* 

flowed  on  with  the  force  of  ocean  waves  to  high-water  mark. 
The  last  time  she  ever  put  pen  to  paper — the  pen  that  has 
done  so  much  blessed  work — was  with  the  intention  of  kind 
ly  convincing  me  I  was  wrong.  Her  frame  was  then  shiv 
ering  with  premonitory  ague,  her  hand  was  weak,  and  after 
writing  one  common  note-paper  page  she  could  write  no 
farther,  and  stopped  at  '  our  festival' — words  fitly  her  last, 
for  her  heart  was  in  them.  You  will  not  misunderstand  me, 
my  dear  Susan,  nor  imagine  that  I  do  not  feel  heartily  in 
the  great  question  of  humanity  that  agitates  our  people.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  so  much  had  been  intemperately  said,  so 
much  rashly  urged  on  the  death  of  that  noble  martyr,  John 
Brown,  by  the  Abolitionists,  that  it  was  not  right  to  appear 
among  them  as  one  of  them.  *  *  *  *  I  wish  I  could  know 
that  you  were  as  well  and  strong  as  I  am,  we  so  much 
need  health  in  our  old  age.  As  the  Irishman  said  of  the 
sun,  *  What  is  the  use  of  it  in  the  day  ?'  So  youth  might 
spare  a  little  of  what  is  so  essential  to  age.  But  if  we  can 
learn  to  resign  contentedly,  to  live  cheerfully  in  our  narrow 
ed  quarters,  and  to  await  in  tranquillity  our  Father's  last 
dealings  on  earth  with  us,  we  may  still  hear  those  blessed 
words,  *  She  hath  clone  what  she  could.'  You  have  doubt 
less  the  two  last  great  books,  Hawthorne's  and  Florence 
Nightingale's  —  the  last,  one  that  will  scatter  blessings 
through  the  land.  Like  light  and  air,  it  is  for  universal 
good.  It  is  rare  for  a  person  who  has  Miss  Nightingale's 
wonderful  powers  of  execution  to  write  with  such  force,  di 
rectness,  and  pithiness.  I  have  but  just  begun  the  '  Marble 
Faun.'  I  am  sure  you  will  feel,  as  I  do,  that  it  pours  a  gold 
en  light  into  the  dim  chambers  of  memory,  and  revivifies 
the  scenes  that  we,  too,  once  enjoyed."  *  *  *  * 

Recollections. 
" April  T,  1860.   I  have  been  reading  a  portion  of  Kings- 


Life  and  Letters.  379 

ley's  late  edition  of  the  '  Fool  of  Quality/  a  book  I  remem 
ber  as  among  my  father's  loves — one  of  the  few  novels  in  our 
old  library  at  Stockbridge.  How  well  do  I  remember  the 
five  duodecimo  volumes,  in  their  dark  leather  bindings.  The 
favorite  books  of  that  time  stand  around  the  chambers  of 
memory,  each  a  shrine.  In  this  there  is  much  wit  and  pa 
thos,  nature  and  wisdom  (nature  is  wisdom  when  it  is  evolved 
from  the  human  heart  and  from  life).  The  style  seems  to 
me  admirable — something  in  the  fashion  of  the  quaint  old 
coats  of  our  grandfathers,  fashioned  for  ease  and  use,  and  of 
the  best  broadcloth  garnished  with  velvet.  It  seems  to  me 
an  admirable  book  might  be  made  out  of  it  for  children, 
and  I  have  a  great  mind  to  try  my  hand  at  it.  It  might, 
perhaps,  flatter  a  little  too  much  the  dynasties  of  the  pres 
ent  day,  the  young  usurpers  of  their  fathers'  thrones.  *  *  * 
"  I  learned,  a  few  clays  since,  by  an  obituary  written  by 
Bryant,  the  death  of  Mrs.  Jameson.  She  was  among  the 
few  friends  of  my  happiest  years  left  to  me.  She  came  to 
this  country  in  1837,  v/iih  the  purpose  of  a  reunion  to  her 
husband,  and  at  his  invitation.  She  went  to  Toronto  (in 
Canada),  but  his  reception  of  her  was  such  as  to  make  it 
impossible  for  her  to  remain  in  his  house  with  contentment 
and  satisfaction,  and  after  a  few  weeks  she  returned  to 
New  York  and  embarked  for  England,  where  her  presence 
was  essential  to  the  happiness  of  her  family,  and  her  exer 
tions  to  their  support.  Mrs.  Jameson  came  to  Stockbridge 
to  see  me  before  I  had  seen  her.  She  repeatedly  expressed 
to  me  a  feeling  of  gratitude.  She  would  say, '  You  do  not 
know  how  grateful  I  am  to  you,  nor  why.'  I  did  not  feel  at 
liberty  to  ask  her  what  she  did  not  tell  without  asking.  I 
had  done  nothing  toward  her,  and  I  could  only  infer  that 
some  chance  seed  in  my  writings  might  have  fallen  on  good 
soil  in  her  heart.  I  say  chancct  but  I  believe,  my  dear  Alice, 
that  whatever  utterance  of  mine  has  done  good,  was  not 


380  Lift:  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgivick. 

mine,  but  sonic  good  word  that  has  passed  through  my  mind 
Heaven-directed.  Now  don't  fancy  that  I  fancy  I  have  been 
inspired!  No  ;  but  to  us  all  come  thoughts,  we  know  not 
whence  nor  whither  they  go,  nor  how  commissioned.  She 
left  here  in  January  or  February,  1838.  She  and  your  Uncle 
Robert  were  mutually  interested,  and  when  she  went  she 
left  him  at  the  most  prosperous  period  of  his  life — in  the 
very  first  class  of  New  York  lawyers,  his  profession  pro 
ductive  of  respect,  and  honor,  and  profit,  holding  a  high  so 
cial  position,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  essential  to  my  hap 
piness — to  my  life.  On  the  Qth  of  the  following  March  he 
was  struck  down  by  apoplexy  and  consequent  paralysis, 
and  from  that  time  his  life  declined.  This  was  the  first 
news  from  us  that  reached  our  friend.  In  May,  1839,  we 
(your  Uncle  and  Aunt  R.,  Cousin  Maria,  Lizzie,  your  mother, 
and  I)  went  to  Europe.  Mrs.  Jameson  received  me  with  the 
warmth  of  a  true  friend.  She  was  then  living  at  St.  John's 
Wood,  near  London,  with  her  father  (and  all  her  unmarried 
family),  a  paralytic,  but  still  a  jovial  Irishman.  lie  had 
been  an  accomplished  painter,  and  attached  to  the  court  of 
George  III.  I  remember  well  his  cordial  salutation,  and 
his  saying  (with  a  kind  reference  to  my  little  book  and  to 
his  own  consolations),  '  Miss  Sedgwick,  I  am  the  rich  poor 
man,'  and,  saying  so,  he  looked  with  overflowing  eyes  upon 
his  devoted  wife,  whom  I  always  found  sitting  beside  him, 
and  on  Mrs.  Jameson,  who  was  truly  his  joy,  and  pride,  and 
support.  She  had  two  unmarried  sisters,  and  finally  one 
widowed  one,  and  for  the  support  of  them  all  she  labored, 
as  Mrs.  Kemble  says,  valiantly  to  the  last.  I  have  never 
seen  her  since  our  parting,  when  we  left  England  for  the 
Continent,  though  from  that  time  till  within  a  year  or  two 
we  have  maintained  our  correspondence,  she  always  writing 
more  promptly  than  I,  simply  from  my  conviction  that  I 
could  give  her  no  adequate  return.  She  sent  me  her  beau- 


Life  and  Letters.  381 

tiful  books,  and  from  to  time  love-tokens,  which  were  taken 
impulsively  from  her  room  or  table  as  she  was  parting  from 
some  friend  coming  here.  The  engraved  name  I  use  for 
my  books  she  made  for  me.  She  drew  the  vignette,  and  en 
graved  it  while  she  was  shut  up  with  her  father  during  his 
last  sickness.  She  worked  a  worsted  cushion  for  me,  sent 
me  a  volume  of  poetry  from  Miss  Baillie's  library,  and  two 
letter-presses  that  had  long  been  in  her  own  use.  I  men 
tion  this  to  you,  Alice,  to  show  the  steadiness  of  her  feeling 
for  me.  I  cherish  this  remembrance,  for  the  impression  she 
made  was  of  an  impulsive  person  whose  affections  would  be 
rather  showers  than  fountains.  *  *  *  *  She  had  a  pale, 
clear,  intellectual  blue  eye,  that  could  flash  anger,  or  jeal 
ousy,  or  love  ;  her  hair  was  red,  and  her  complexion  very 
fair,  and  of  the  hue  of  an  irate  temper.  Her  arms,  neck, 
and  hands  were  beautiful,  but  her  whole  person  wanted  dig 
nity  ;  it  was  short,  and  of  those  dimensions  that  to  ears  po 
lite  are  embonpoint — to  the  vulgar,  fat.  Her  genius  and 
accomplishments  need  no  note  of  mine  ;  they  live  in  her 
books.  I  believe  no  woman  has  written  more  variously, 
and  few,  men  or  women,  so  well.  She  impressed  me  as  the 
best  talker  I  ever  heard,  and  I  have  heard  many  gifted  *  un 
known,'  and  many  known  and  celebrated.  Mrs,  Kemble, 
who  has  had  far  more  extended  opportunities  than  mine,  as 
she  has  been  familiar  with  men  trained  to  talk  in  the  Lon 
don  social  arena,  I  Imve  heard  assign  the  first  place  to  Mrs. 
Jameson.  Her  gifts  and  accomplishments  arc  not  now 
mere  laurels  on  her  grave,  but  have  passed  on,  as  I  trust,  to 
a  higher  sphere,  and  above  them  all  the  crown  of  her  filial 
piety."  *  *  *  * 

Journal. 

"  Thursday  >  April  26,  1860.  My  last  day  at  Woodbourne  1 
Sydney  Smith  well  says  that  it  is  one  of  the  pains  of  old 


382  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

age  that  whatever  we  do  carries  with  it  the  melancholy 
thought  of  being  *  for  the  last  time.1  Surely  my  experience 
of  the  infinite  bounty  and  goodness  of  God  should  fill  my 
heart  with  gratitude  for  the  past  and  trust  for  the  future. 
I  came  here  on  the  2jd  of  December.  I  have  had  since 
uninterrupted  health  (save  my  habitual  pains).  I  have  had 
the  love  and  tender  care  of  every  member  of  this  dear  fam 
ily,  and  troops  of  affectionate  friends ;  no  serious  illness  or 
overcasting  sorrow  among  them.  I  have  had  the  prime  en 
joyment  of  Mrs.  Kemble's  readings,  and  her  society,  and 
many  social  pleasures."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Sedgivick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

•'  New  York,  May  12,  1860. 

"  MY  DEAREST  KATE, — It  has  struck  6  P.M.  I  have  only 
eaten  a  little  fruit  since  breakfast,  and  feel  rather  like  that 
empty  bag  that  can't  stand  up.  But,  as  I  have  resolutely 
shut  up  the  '  Mill  on  the  Floss,'  not  being  able  to  meet  the 
storm  that  I  hear  rumbling  in  the  distance,  and  that  I  am 
sure  is  to  pour  down  on  poor  Maggie's  devoted  head,  I  have 
taken  up  my  pen  to  begin  to  thank  you  and  Alice  for  your 
last  letter.  I  have  no  greater  pleasure  than  to  hear  from 
you,  and  to  know  that  you  are  all  well.  This  *  Mill'  has  de 
lighted  me.  It  has  turned  out  such  an  amount  of  good 
grist,  it  is  so  filled  with  heart-probings  and  knowledge  of 
human  life,  so  earnestly  free  from  any  Attempt  to  dress  up, 
to  express,  or  find  a  vent  for  the  author's  egotism  I  It  deals 
sturdily  with  the  real  stuff  that  life  is  made  of,  and,  like  life, 
constantly  makes  you  wish  that  the  characters  were  a  little 
different — that  this  and  that  would  not  turn  out  just  so.'1 

"  Lenox,  June  17, 1860. 

"  MY  DEAREST  KATE, — It  is  a  divine  day — a  day  when 
hope  and  faith  spring  forth  from  the  glorified  earth  in  har 
mony  with  the  soaring  birds  and  the  opening  flowers.  The 


JLtfe  and  Letters.  383 

warm,  gentle  rain  in  June,  such  as  fell  yesterday  (n^t  quite 
enough  of  it,  as  Charlie,  with  his  temperate  gratitude,  might 
say),  falls  on  good  ground,  and,  like  spiritual  grace,  refresh 
es  and  multiplies  God's  good  gifts.  The  air  this  morning  is 
such  as  might  come  from  Paradise  when  its  guardian  angel 
opens  its  gates  to  happy  mortals.  There  is  a  worship  of 
beauty,  a  sweet  breath  of  praise  from  all  this  wide  land 
scape  before  my  door.  Men,  women,  and  children  make 
the  discords.  Nature  is  the  heavenly  messenger  whose 
voice  is  melody  and  harmony.  Is  it  not  strange  that  I,  of 
all  people  in  the  world,  should  rejoice  in  the  absence  of  hu 
manity  ?  Perhaps  it  is  the  novelty  that  makes  it,  for  half  an 
hour,  agreeable  to  me.  The  family  has  dispersed  to  the 
various  churches.  Little  Charles  is  not  here,  and  therefore 
his  flitting  form  does  not  pass  in  and  out,  and  to  and  fro 
with  this  mobile  resemblance  (the  only  one)  to  the  evil 
spirits. 

"  I  have  had  far  more  than  ordinary  enjoyment  in  life,  and 
in  the  affection  and  character  of  those  nearest  to  me  a  fore 
taste  of  heaven ;  and  yet  so  painful  are  its  uncertainties,  so 
frightful  its  hazards,  so  certain  its  changes  and  disappoint 
ments,  that  1  can  not  look  upon  its  loss  on  its  threshold  as 
to  be  lamented.  Why  should  it  be  if  the  life  here  is  jump 
ed,  if  the  capacities  and  affections  arc  saved  from  obstruc 
tion  and  blight,  and  pass  to  a  higher  school  and  infallible 
guardianship.  Yet,  dear  Kate,  the  loss  remains,  the  place 
vacant.  Death  has  always  been,  and  always  must  be,  a 
tragedy." 

Miss  Setigwick  to  Jlfrs.  JRusscll. 

•'  Lenox,  July  17, 1860. 

"  MY  DEAR  LUCY, — I  sent  to  town  by  H.  (and  I  am 
ashamed  not  to  have  sent  it  earlier)  the  Life  of  Perthes. 
He  had  an  earnest  intention  to  give  it  into  W.'s  hands, 


384  -Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

as  he  shares  the  infirmity  of  some  of  his  family,  he  may  for 
get  it,  find,  to  guard  against  that  possibility,  you  had  best 
ask  W.  to  remind  him.  I  have  often  thought  of  you  in  your 
new  and  pleasant  home,  and  rejoice  that  I  can  locate  you  in 
my  imagination.  Not  to  be  able  to  do  that  leaves  the  pain 
ful  inclefinitcness  that  we  feel  in  regard  to  the  disembodied 
spirits  of  our  friends.  There  are  only  rare  moments  when 
their  present  existence  is  realized  to  us.  Is  this  want  of 
faith  or  defect  of  power  ? 

"  We  have  had  a  great  occasion  in  our  own  dear  valley — • 
the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  of  a  Catholic  church  in  a 
beautiful  spot  just  under  the  shadow  of  Laurel  Hill.  It  was 
a  great  day  for  J.,  and  whatever  makes  her  happier  has  my 
fullest  sympathy.  She  has  been  indefatigable  in  her  exer 
tions  to  effect  this,  and  is  half  canonized  by  her  Catholic 
friends  and  followers.  *  Oh,  see  Miss  J.'s  good,  beautiful 
face  I1  said  one  of  them  \  and,  radiant  with  happiness  as  she 
was,  it  was  hardly  an  extravagant  expression.  Think,  dear 
Lucy,  of  my  living  to  see  a  close  procession  of  Irish  Catho 
lics  from  one  end  of  the  village  to  the  other,  when  I  remem 
ber  the  time,  forty  years  ago,  when  there  was  but  one  Irish 
man  in  Stockbridge — in  the  county  probably — and  he  a 
Protestant.  Ah  1  the  good  old  times,  when  Mrs. de 
clared  the  deacon's  shop  should  not  be  turned  into  a  ca 
thedral,  moved  thereto  by  mass  being  held  at  the  hatter's 
little  shop  for  half  a  dozen  poor  Irish  I" 

Miss  Setlgwick  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

4<  Lenox,  1860. 

*  *  *  *  "Our  life  here  is  full,  not  of  events,  but  of  shift 
ing  scenes.     I  called  on  Mrs. and  her  daughter  after 

our  short  service,  which  mainly  consisted  in  a  very  pretty 
school-boy  detail  of  the  eminent  example  of  friendship  in  the 
life  of  Damon  and  Pythias.  Do  you  know  Mrs. ? 


Life  and  Letters.  385 

She  is  a  very  pleasing  woman,  with  more  of  the  father  in  her 
than  of  the  querulous  worldly  mother,  who,  through  the  man 
tle  of  renunciation  and  mourning,  has  always  the  bad  flavor 
of  low  ambitions.  Now,  Kate,  this  is  merely  a  philosophic 
al  observation  of  human  character,  and  not  a  want  of  that 
lovely  charity  that  thinketh  no  evil.  I  was  making  up  for 
the  clerical  gruel  I  had  taken  by  a  little  of  Bishop  Whately's 
strong  meat,  when  I  was  surprised  by  a  doze,  which  I  should 
have  stoutly  denied  but  that  I  was  roused  in  the  heat  of  an 
altercation  between  the  bishop  and  your  mother  as  to  the 
right  mode  of  paving  her  garden-walk,  and  summoned  to 
see  Professor  R.,  and  J.  Professor  R.  I  am  always  glad  to 
see.  He  is  one  of  the  'peculiar  people'  associated  with 
those  now  farthest  from  us,  and  yet  always  nearest.  They 
both  staid  to  tea,  and  after  they  went  I  was  rushing  off  to 
make  some  calls  that  I  had  deferred  two  weeks,  when  enter 
ed  the  whole race,  whose  voices  are  like — tromboids 

do  you  call  them  ? — some  instrument  that  is  an  imitation  of 
a — fugue  do  you  call  it? — by  a  donkey  and  a  peacock. 
*  *  *  *  Oh  I  tell  my  beloved  Willie  that  I  thank  him  for 
his  letter,  and  that  I  have  tried  very  hard  to  find  a  market 
for  the  pair  of  rabbits  he  offers.  I  have  offered  them  to 
clergy  and  laity,  to  men  and  women,  to  boys  and  girls.  The 
latter  would  be  willing  customers,  but  there  is  a  restraining 
parental  influence  in  the  background.  I  see  nothing  for  it 
but  for  me  to  buy  them,  and  for  him  to  kill  and  eat  them  1 
My  love  to  dear  Alice  and  to  all.  My  darling  Robbie,  I  am 
pining  for  him.  Yours  ever,  C.  M.  SEDGWICK." 

Miss  Sc'dgwick  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

"  Lenox,  August  25,  1860. 

"  DEAREST  KATE, — If  any  of  the  family  have  written  you 
this  week,  and  informed  you  of  my  illness,  you  will  be  glad 
to  get  a  letter  from  me.  I  felt  a  cold  coming  on  in  the 

R 


386  Life  of  Catharine  Af.-  Sedgwick. 

night  and  increasing,  and  when  I  returned  from  depositing 
my  last  letter  to  you  in  the  post  my  voice  was  quite  gone, 
and  in  the  course  of  a  couple  of  hours  I  had  a  violent  access 
of  croup.  It  was  gradually  relieved,  so  that  before  bedtime 
the  distress  was  over.  I  can  not  look  back  to  any  exposure 
or  imprudence.  I  ought  only  to  be  surprised  that  disease 
comes  so  rarely  to  me,  and  to  have  renewed  gratitude  to 
God  for  my  continued  health  and  sustained  strength.  The 
end  must  come,  my  dear  child,  and  before  long — '  the  readi 
ness  is  all.1 " 

Miss  Sedgunck  to  Jlf/'s.  A".  S.  Minot. 

44  Lenox,  October  7,  1860. 

"MY  DEAREST  KATE, — I  have  just  dismissed  my  little 
Irishers,  and  come  to  my  always  pleasant  Sunday  office  ; 
but  I  fear  it  will  be  brief  and  ill-performed  to-day,  as  Grace 
and  I  are  going  down  to  Uncle  Stephen's  funeral.*  The 
dear  old  man  died  peacefully  on  Friday,  after  having  gath 
ered  in  the  last  fruits  of  his  faithful  waiting  on  Mother  Earth. 
Since  his  strength  has  failed  him  to  upheave  the  sods  where 
he  has  planted  so  much  precious  seed,  he  has  tilled,  to  the 
very  last,  his  little  garden-plot,  opening  the  soil  with  his  hoe, 
the  only  instrument  his  weak  hands  could  manage.  Aunt 
Visy  sowed  the  seeds,  his  poor  rheumatic  fo.urscore  body 
refusing  to  bend  beyond  a  certain  angle.  Visy  says,  *  Why, 
he  set  up  his  tune  every  morning,  and  kept  on  humming  it 
till  he  had  done  his  work ;  he  enjoyed  himself !'  Talk  of 
gifts !  What  gift  that  ever  God  gave  excelled  in  worth  to 
the  receiver  this  cheery  spirit,  springing  out  of  peace  of  con 
science  and  good-will  to  man  ?  '  He  was  not  a  professor,' 
but  I  believe  he  has  entered  the  kingdom  of  heaven  without 
the  diploma  of '  the  Congregational  Church  in  Stockbridge, 
Mass.' 

*  Mr.  Stephen  Tucker,  of  Stockbridge,  whose  kindly  nature  made  him 
"Uncle  Stephen"  to  half  the  village. 


Life  and  Letters.  387 

"  Our  sweet  Louisa*  will  arrive  soon  after  my  letter.  Tell 
her  that  Grace  and  I  slept  on  guard  last  night  as  soundly  as 
the  soldiers  did  at  St.  Peter's  prison,  and  the  angels,  like 
his,  tended  her  children.  Emilia,  Annie  says,  waked  often, 
but  did  not  cry  once,  and  Grace  waked  once,  and  instead 
of  murmuring  against  Providence  for  taking  away  her  par 
ents,  at  the  recognition  of  Annie's  voice  she  merely  said, 
'  f  love  oo  in  my  'art.'  They  are  bright  as  new  dollars  this 
morning. 

"  I  trust,  my  dear  Kate,  there  will  be  no  contretemps  to 
mar  your  enjoyment  this  week,  and  that  you  will  have  a 

*  real   good   time.'     I  count  days   now  as   I  once  counted 
years,  and  feel  far  more  eagerness  to  make  the  most  of  time 
— to  use  every  ray  of  moral  sunshine,  and  to  escape  the 

*  pestilent  congregation  of  vapors'  from  moral  diseases  that 

overshadow  and  blight  so  much  of  life.'1 

- 

Miss  Scttgwick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

44  New  York,  December  7,  1860. 

"  Never,  in  my  lifetime,  have  we  been  at  so  interesting  a 
point  in  our  political  history  ;  and  if  you  and  William  did 
not  talk  on  the  volcanic  topic  before  breakfast  and  after 
supper,  I  should  think  the  blood  of  your  fathers  had  lost  all 
moral  vitality  in  your  veins.  Oh,  for  the  spirit  of  Wisdom 
and  of  Love  1  But  alas  !  what  hope  of  it,  or  what  desert  of 
it !  I  suppose  you  will  think  it  quite  consonant  to  my  cow 
ardly  character  if  I  tell  you  that  I  feel  most  deeply  interest 
ed  in  the  poor  mothers  and  maidens  that  are  trembling  in 
the  midst  of  their  servile  enemies.  As  for  that  bullying 
State  of  South  Carolina,  one  would  not  much  care.  As  C. 
(cousin  C.)  says,  *  Let  the  damned  little  thing  go  1'  or  as  C. 
B.  (two  of  the  most  humane  men  I  know)  says, '  Plow  them 
under,  plow  them  under !  It  has  been  a  little  wasp  from 
the  beginning !' " 

*  Mrs. William  Sedgwick. 


388  Life  of  Catharine  M. 


Afiss  Setlgwick  to  Jlfrs.  Itussetl. 

44  Wooclbourne,  January  5,  1861. 

"  MY  DEAR  LUCY,  —  Though  I  have  received  no  answer  to 
my  last  letter,  yet  it  does  not  accord  with  my  notions  to 
stand  on  that  very  inconvenient  footing  —  a  point  of  cere 
mony  —  with  you  ;  and  my  heart  moves  me  to  send  my 
greeting  to  you  at  this  season  that  sanctities  the  greetings 
of  old  friends,  and  makes  us  feel  how  precious  they  are,  and 
calls  forth  our  gratitude  for  the  preserved  lives  of  those  who 
are  knit  to  us  by  the  associations  of  a  lifetime  ;  who  have 
lived  in  the  same  social  compact  with  us  ;  who  have  had 
the  same  friendships,  the  same  joys  and  sorrows  ;  who  have 
worshiped  with  the  same  heart  at  one  altar  ;  who  have  the 
same  treasures  garnered  in  heaven,  and  who,  in  one  hope, 
one  faith,  one  baptism,  are  awaiting  the  summons,  near  at 
hand,  to  join  the  beloved  who  have  gone  before  us  to  our 
Master.  *  *  *  * 

"  I  came  to  'Kate's  just  before  Christmas.  I  have  come 
to  be  considered  by  her  children  as  a  component  part  of  the 
institution  —  a  female  manifestation  of  Santa  Glaus.  You, 
dear  Lucy,  who  knew  me  in  my  life  of  variety  and  excite 
ment,  will  hardly  credit  the  monotony  and  fair  contentment 
of  my  present  life.  As  I  look  at  the  great  pines  around  us 
bending  their  branches  to  the  ground,  as  they  do  now  under 
a  load  of  snow,  and  looking  like  large  tents  made  of  broad 
white  plumes,  with  brilliant  blue  sky  above  and  stainless 
snow  below,  I  feel  the  living  ministry  there  is  in  Nature,  and 
should  feel  that 

44  'The  calm  retreat,  the  silent  shade, 
With  prayer  and  praise  agree.1 

****«!  wonder  how,  and  how  much,  you  are  exer 
cised  on  the  subject  of  secession.  I  am  hopeful  as  to  the 
issue.  I  cling  to  the  Union  as  an  unweaned  child  does  to 


and  Letters.  389 

its  mother's  breast.  But  it  seems  to  me  we  should  stand  in 
awe,  and  only  pray  that  God's  will  may  be  done  in  this 
great  matter.  It  may  be  that  he  will  permit  the  Southern 
suicidal  madness  to  rage  and  prevail  to  the  great  end  of 
blotting  slavery  from  the  land  it  poisons.  Massachusetts  is 
condemned  as  the  hot-bed  of  abolition  fanaticism  —  I  hear 
nothing  but  ultra  concession  and  conservatism." 


Miss  Srtlgwick  to  Mrs.  Channing. 

"  Wuodbournc,  February  27,  1861. 

****"!  have  not  yet  come  down  to  the  level  of  the 
despairing  of  our  country.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  strong 
hopes,  perhaps  confidence  in  the  future.  The  Cotton  States 
may  remain  out,  but  that  may  be  no  harm  to  us  (God  bless 
them!).  The  Border  States  may  join  them  (I  do  not  be 
lieve  they  will),  and  much  trouble  may  ensue  therefrom. 
But  I  have  faith  in  the  farther  development,  of  the  effect  of 
our  institutions.  They  are  seed  sown  by  the  righteous  — 
sown  in  love  and  justice  to  the  whole  family.  We  are  m.ak- 
ing  the  first  experiment  of  the  greatest  happiness  to  the 
greatest  number,  and  Providence  will  not  permit  it  to  fail 
short  of  consummation.  We  have  in  our  people  the  ele 
ments  of  life  and  health.  We  arc  in  harmony  with  the  great 
natural  laws."  *  *  *  * 

Miss  Se</gwt'f&  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

"Stockbridgc,  June  2,  1861. 

*  *  *  *  «  It  is  very  uncomfortable  to  be  all  the  time  con 
scious  of  the  working  of  your  machine,  and  expecting  that 
at  any  moment  the  chord  will  snap.  We  cling  to  life  ;  it  is 
the  law  of  our  being  ;  and  it  is  my  continual  prayer  to  trust  ; 
to  be  delivered  from  fear  and  anxiety  ;  to  be  thankful  for 
the  continuance  of  my  powers  and  faculties  to  this  time  ;  to 
be  fortified  by  the  love  of  Christ,  and  unfaltering  faith  in 


390  Lift  of  Catharine  Jlf.  Scdgwick. 

him,  and  in  God's  mercy  through  him,  to  meet  the  summons 
that  must  come  soon.  I  am  cowardly. 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  done  with  the  subject.  I  quite  agree 
with  Emerson,  who,  in  his  chapter  on  Manners,  says, '  If  you 
have  a  cold,  or  have  had  a  fever,  or  a  sun-stroke,  or  a  thun 
der-stroke,  never  speak  of  it.1 

"  Perhaps  you  know  that  our  warriors  of  the  Valley  went 
on  Friday  to  the  Brook-farm  camp.  There  were  thirty-nine. 
Your  Aunt  Susan  and  half  the  village  were  at  the  station  at 
6  o'clock  to  take  leave  of  them.  Her  blessing  was  the  best 
munition  of  war  they  took  with  them." 

Miss  Se<fgivif&  to  Airs.  K.  S.  Afinot: 

"  Stockbritlgc,  June  23,  1861. 

"  I  never  before,  my  dear  Kate  (at  least  I  think  so  ;  but 
we  go  over  our  experiences  again  and  again,  and,  when  the 
scene  shifts,  forget  them),  felt  such  an  insane  desire  to  seize 
Time  by  the  neck  and  hold  him  back  to  prolong  this  most 
lovely  month  of  June.  Every  day  seems  a  new  revelation 
of  the  exquisite  beauty  of  creation,  an  actual  presence  of 
God,  a  triumphal  procession  of  the  forces  of  nature.  Life 
abounds,  and  grows  stronger  and  richer  from  hour  to  hour, 
and  there  is  no  withered  grass,  no  fading  leaf,  no  faint  song 
of  the  birds  to  foreshadow  decay  and  death.  It  seems  not 
a  prophecy  of  heaven,  but  heaven  itself.  And  we  may  list 
en  to  the  great  anthem  without  turning  in  upon  discontents, 
and  sorrow,  and  vain  longings  for  what  has  been  and  can  be 
no  more,  or  looking  out  upon  the  raging  of  as  disorderly 
and  fiery  passions  as  ever  disturbed  the  peace  of  nature. 

"  One  can  not  long  keep  up  to  the  symphonies  of  nature 
in  war-time  ;  and,  with  all  my  earnest  feeling  and  love  for 
this  divine  month,  I  was  even  to-day  crying  out  of  the  win 
dow  and  breaking  the  Sunday  stillness  by  an  appeal  for  a 
newspaper  H.  had  in  his  hand,  we — your  aunt  and  I — hav- 


Life  and  Letters.  391 

ing  missed  that  daily  food  yesterday,  and  being  at  the  starv 
ation  point.  He  took  off  the  edge  of  our  hunger  by  saying 
a  telegram  had  just  been  received  announcing,  from  a  '  reli 
able  source/  that  there  would  be  no  battle  this  campaign. 
Yesterday,  you  know,  it  was  announced  that  a  great  battle 
was  impending.  And  so  from  day  to  day  we  go  on.  It  is  a 
mere  war  of  troops  and  rumors.  A  few  days  since,  J.  and 
M.  were  riding  j  en  passant,  J.'s  war  fervor  is  up  to  the  boil 
ing  point.  M.'s  horse  stumbled,  fell  under  J.'s,  and  upset 
him.  Both  were  thrown — women,  not  horses — and  when  J. 
saw  her  horse's  heels  in  the  air,  and  coming  down,  as  she 
thought,  on  her  head,  what  one  throb  of  anguish  at  parting 
life  think  you  she  had  ?  '  Oh,  I  shall  never  hear  about  the 
battle  at  Bethel  !'  It  takes  Berkshire  to  generate  such  en 
thusiasm  as  that.'1 

Miss  Stdgwick  to  Afrs.  Russell. 

44  Slockbriclgc,  November  16,  1861. 

"  MY  DEAR  LUCY, — The  year  is  fast  waning,  and  our  lives 
are  speeding  away,  and  few  the  lights  still  burning  in  our 
narrowed  circle.  Far  as  we  are  apart,  and  small  as  our  vis 
ible  intercourse  is,  I  feel  your  rays  upon  my  heart,  and  shall 
as  long  as  we  both  live.  I  met  W.  when  I  was  in  town,  and 
had  a  cordial  grasp  of  his  hand,  and  as  much  information  as 
he  could  give  me  of  you — not  very  satisfactory,  as  he  told 
me  you  had  been  less  strong  than  usual  the  past  summer. 
We  shrink  from  these  intimations  of  change  that  must  come, 
that  is  certainly  near,  and  why  do  we,  except  from  defect  of 
faith  ?  If  we  believe  that '  to  depart  and  be  with  Christ  is 
far  better ;'  if  we  believe  that  we  shall  be  with  Him  who  has 
brought  us  out  of  the  darkness  of  the  natural  world  into  a 
revelation  of  immortality,  who  has  made  known  to  us  the 
Father's  love,  the  paternal  character  of  God  in  all  its  bear 
ings  upon  our  destiny  ;  if  we  believe  that  death  will  deliver 


3Q2  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgiuick, 

us  from  temptation,  from  sin,  from  sorrows  ;  if  we  believe  it 
will  reunite  us  to  the  beloved  who  have  gone  before  us,  who 
were  the  life  of  our  life — then,  dear  friend,  should  we  wel 
come  the  twilight  of  our  diminished  day,  and  feel  that  '  to 
morrow  will  be  fair/     I  must  make  an  honest  confession  : 
I  have  an  intense  desire  to  live  to  see  the  conclusion  of  our 
present  struggle  ;  how  order  is  to  be  brought  out  of  the  pres 
ent  confusion ;  how  these  advecse  principles  are  ever  to  be 
harmonized  ;  how  peace  and  good  neighborhood  are  ever  to 
follow  upon  this  bitter  hate.     I  am  willing  to  see  South  Car 
olina  humbled  in  the  dust — to  see  riches  and  honor  taken 
from  her,  and  a  full  expiation  of  the  crimes  she  has  com 
mitted  ;  but  beyond  South  Carolina  I  have  no  ill  will.     The 
people  are   cursed  and  borne  down  by  their  slavery,  and 
maddened  by  their  ambitious  leaders  ;  made  to  believe,  not 
a  lie,  but  bushels  of  them,  and  they  can  only  be  cured  of 
their  frenzy  by  being  made  to  feel  their  impotence  ;  this  they 
seem  now  in  a  fair  way  to  realize.     You  and  I,  dear  Lucy, 
must  find  consolation  for  havoc    and  wide   misery  in  the 
many  probable  good  results  of  this  purgation.     It  is  delight 
ful  to  see  the  gallantry  of  some  of  our  men,  who  are  repeat 
ing  the  heroic  deeds  that  seemed  fast  receding  to  fabulous 
times.     In  a  small  way  there  is  nothing  pleases  me  better 
than  the  zeal  among  our  young  women  (young  and  old)  in 
working  for  the  hospitals.     We  hear  no  gossip,  but  the  most 
rational  talk  about  hospital-gowns,  comfortables,  socks,  and 
mittens.     Our  whole  community,  from  Mrs.  Kemble  down 
to  some  of  our  Irish  servants,  are  knitting.     You  may  meet 
E.  any  hour  of  the  day  going  about  to  distribute  yarn  she 
has  purchased,  to  persuade  some  to  knit  for  love,  and  to 
hire  blind  women  and  old  women  to  do  the  work.      Small 
things  become  great  with  such  motives  and  such  actions. 
Far  better  is  this  than  the  turmoil  of  city  life  1" 


Life  and  Letters.  393 

• 
Miss  Sedgwick  to  Airs.  K.  S.  Minot. 

44  Lenox,  July  9,  1862. 

"  MY  DEAREST  KATE, — I  have  written  to  you  (ideally) 
twenty  letters  since  the  mail  came  yesterday,  and  brought 
to  your  mother  the  first  dispatch  from  Will*  since  the  week 
of  battles.  It  was  written  late  at  night,  after  his  first  sleep 
after  seventy-six  hours  of  vigil  with  the  exception  of  three 
quarters  of  an  hour,  after  marches  and  fastings  to  men  and 
horses  too  horrible  to  think  of;  and  yet  it  is  a  connected 
and  admirable  account,  and  concludes  with  *  all  right  now ; 
the  men  restored  to  hope,  except  the  few  vant-rienst  and  I 
am  ready  to  give  the  last  drop  of  blood  in  my  body  to  my 
country.'  There  is  a  pathetic  description  of  the  death  of 
'  Sam/  Gepcral  Seclgwick's  favorite  horse,  who  was  pierced 
by  three  bullets  when  he  was  on  him.  But  you  will  see  the 
letter,  and  I  will  not  garble  it  by  any  anticipatory  fragments. 
You  will  be  proud  of  your  brother,  dear  Kate,  and  thankful, 
most  thankful  are  we  all  that  he  and  dear  Cousin  Johnf 
have  passed  through  such  dangers  in  safety.  *  *  *  *  Your 
mother  is  calm,  active  as  ever,  and  apparently  cheerful,  but 
I  can  sec  that  there  is  an  under  swell  of  anxiety  that  I  much 
fear  will  tell  on  her  health.  She  is  fit  to  be  the  mother  of 
heroes,  and  she  has  certainly  transmitted  to  her  son  her 
vigorous,  hopeful  spirit.11 

*  William  Dwight  Scdgwick,  son  of  Mr.  Charles  Scdgwick,  one  of  the 
noble  young  heroes,  and,  alas  I  one  of  the  victims  of  the  War  of  the  Re 
bellion.  He  felt  his  duty  to  his  country  paramount  even  to  his  love  for 
his  wife  and  children,  and,  entering  the  army,  had  attained  the  rank  of 
major,  when,  after  fighting  gallantly  in  the  early  and  disastrous  battles 
in  Virginia,  he  was  struck  down  on  the  terrible  Held  of  An  tic  tain,  iyth 
September,  1862. 

t  General  Scdgwick,  who  was  a  grandson  of  "  Uncle  John,"  Judge 
Scdgwick's  elder  brother. 

R  2 


394  £*fe  °f  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 


Miss  Sedgivick  to  Mrs.  JC.  S.  Mi/tot. 

44  Stockbridgc,  August  I,  1862. 

*  *  *  *  "  It  is  strange  how  cheerily  the  world  goes  on, 
living  as  we  do  at  this  moment  on  a  volcano.  But,  as  I  look 
out  of  the  window  on  a  lawn  of  the  richest  clover  my  eye 
ever  fell  on,  and  on  one  of  the  loveliest  of  sylvan  scenes, 
with  the  mowers  turning  yp  the  heavy,  new-cut  hay  to  the 
hot  sun,  it  is  difficult  to  realize  that  there  is  any  worse  evil 
afloat  than  the  daily  showers  that  discourage  the  husband 
man,  and  yet  a  general  dread  pervades  us  all,  not  with 
out  terror,  when  the  cheerful  light  of  day  is  gone. 

"JLenoXy  September  i7/#,  1862.  *  *  *  *  I  have  plunged  into 
the  mOlc'e  of  Les  Miserables.1  I  have  just  got  to  the  story. 
It  is  a  book  that  must  be  read,  and  will  not  be  limited  to 
the  great  congregation  of  novel  readers.  It  deals  with  the 
greatest  topics  of  humanity,  and  in  such  a  mode  as  is  pos 
sible  only  to  a  mind  of  the  first  order.  The  book  is  every 
where ;  the  first  time  you  lay  your  hand  on  it,  read  the 
chapter  headed  L'EvQquc  en  presence  (Tune  Ittm&rc  inconnuc. 
It  is  solemn,  magnificent,  and  beautiful ;  full  of  thoughts 
that  solve  the  mysteries  of  history.  But  you  must  read  the 
whole  book,  and  no  better  time  than  this,  when  we  need  to 
be  diverted  by  other  miseries  than  our  own.  The  effect  is 
sometimes  impaired  by  the  extase^  the  oxygenated  atmos 
phere  of  the  French  temperament." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  JRussett>  after  Mrs.  Robert  Sedgwick's 

JDeatA. 

44  Lenox,  September  12,  1862. 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — You  will  have  heard,  before  my  let 
ter  reaches  you,  that  another  dear  member  of  my  family  has 
left  us  ;  your  kindred  too,  and  associated  in  your  mind,  as  she 
is  in  mine,  with  the  dearest  affections  and  tenderest  memo- 


Life  and  Letters.  395 

ries.  I  think  she  has  been  steadily  declining,  with  a  few 
intervals  of  slight  rallying,  for  the  last  two  years  ;  and  since 
she  returned  to  her  home  from  New  York  in  June,  she  has 
borne  the  impress  of  a  fast-approaching  change.  I  will  not 
dwell  on  her  sufferings  ;  there  is  no  use  to  you  and  me,  dear 
Lucy,  in  their  contemplation.  She  had  all  the  mitigations 
her  state  admitted,  and  immeasurable  consolation  in  the 
presence  and  love  of  her  children.  Her  character  was  a 
rare  one — strong  in  the  marked  qualities  of  her  family ;  a 
more  devoted  and  disinterested  mother  I  have  never  known. 
And  now  she  seemed  to  have  earned  her  rest — to  have  laid 
down  her  cares,  and,  surrounded  by  prosperity,  honored  and 
beloved,  to  have  a  sunny  afternoon  before  her.  God  willed 
it  otherwise — transferred  her,  as  we  believe,  to  light  and  joy 
that  fadeth  never.  To  me  she  has  ever  been  a  most  kind 
and  faithful  sister.  She  found  herself  adapted  to  country 
life.  She  took  an  interest  in  all  its  details,  and  she  was 
much  endeared  to  her  country  neighbors.  She  seemed  to 
set  out  with  the  specific  purpose  of  making  my  sister  Jane's 
place  good,  and  at  first  I  thought  she  would  be  regarded 
much  as  step-mothers  are  ;  but  it  was  not  so.  Her  sympa 
thy  with  the  sick,  her  unstinted  and  watchful  generosity,  her 
elegant  hospitality,  and  her  vein  of  humor,  delighted  our 
rustic  people,  and  she  is  lamented  with  real  and  bitter  sor 
row.  She  was  buried  on  one  of  our  loveliest  September 
days,  just  as  the  sun  was  setting  and  filling  the  valley  with 
golden  light.  The  cold  tomb-stones  seemed  warm  and  soft 
in  the  flood  of  radiance.  Her  funeral  room  was  filled  with 
flowers  sent  in  by  friends  and  neighbors ;  crosses  of  white 
lilies  and  roses  at  the  head  and  foot  of  the  coffin  ;  rings — 
types  of  immortality — hanging  at  the  door,  and  baskets  and 
bouquets  elaborately  and  significantly  arranged." 


396  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

Afiss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs,  Russell. 

"  Lenox. 

"  You  perhaps  have  heard  how  manfully  our  dear  Will  be 
haved — how,  when  he  lay  on  the  hard,  plowed  ground  (and 
he  was  lying  there  seven  and  a  half  hours),  fatally  wounded, 
he  managed  to  get  his  little  diary  from  his  bosom  and  write, 
with  fond  expressions  and  earnest  prayer,  the  simple  great 
truth,  *  I  have  tried  to  do  my  duty* — the  truth  that  takes  the 
sting  from  death — the  victory  from  the  grave.  So  I  am 
content  that  my  beloved  brother's  son  should  die," 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Alice  Minot. 

"  IAMIOX,  October  23, 1862. 

******  My  love  to  a//,  and  when  I  write  this,  I  mean 
it  from  your  grandfather  down,  to  each  and  all,  as  is  due 
from  me,  love  and  gratitude  ;  and  mind  you,  kiss  my  darling 
for  me.  Which  is  that  ?  your  father  or  mother  ?  Willie  or 
Hal  ?  Charles  or  Rob  ?  It  would  puzzle  me  to  tell. 
"  Yours,  my  very  darling, 

"CATHARINE  M.  SEDGWICK." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  A".  S.  Minot. 

"  New  York,  December  4,  1862. 

"MY  DEAREST  KATE, — I  received  your  long  letter  and 
Alice's  addenda  yesterday  morning,  and,  though  my  stom 
ach  heaved  a  little  at  my  darling — Cain  I* — yet  I  felt  like  a 
man  who,  having  been  hungry,  is  well  fed.  Well,  my  dear 
Kate,  you  and  William  have  a  task,  the  most  difficult  in  life, 
to  work  up  these  grand  and  diverse  materials  that  God  has 
put  into  your  hands,  to  fashion  them  into  the  beauty  of  God's 
likeness.  My  hope  is  that  you  may  be  fellow-workers  with 

*  One  of  Mrs.  Minot's  boys,  who  had  thrown  a  stone  at  one  of  hid 
cousins  and  cut  his  forehead. 


Life  and  Letters.  397 

Him,  and  then,  if  you  are  faithful^  the  result  is  certain.  I 
have  unlimited  confidence  in  William's  wisdom  and  power, 
but  please  give  my  compliments  to  him,  and  tell  him  that  I 
hold  him  responsible  for  the  murderous  propensities.  The 
Sedgwicks,  if  an  imbecile,  are  a  gentle  race,  and  never  till 
now  broke  into  the  Decalogue.  My  darling  boy  1  I  am  so 
glad  it  happened  before  I  came.  I  trust  there  were  no  last 
ing  nor  very  severe  consequences  to  dear  little  F.*  I  can 
see  the  mother  and  sisters  when  the  bleeding  victim  was 
borne  in  1  *  *  *  *  I  had  a  disappointment  yesterday.  Mrs. 
F.  sent  for  me  while  we  were  at  breakfast  (we  breakfast  be 
fore  eight  1)  to  breakfast  with  her  and  go  with  a  party  to  see 
an  iron-clad  ship.  I  did  not  feel  in  the  humor,  and  declined. 
At  four  she  came  here  flushed  with  pleasure,  the  rose  color 
of  fourteen,  and  with  more  excited  enthusiasm  than  the 
whole  present  race  of  girls  in  their  teens  would  have  felt. 
She  had  been  over  the  ship ;  she  had  been  shown  all  its 
complicated  resources  by  Warden,  his  face  blind  of  one  eye, 
and  *  blackened  by  powder  that  made  it  beautiful  !f  She 
had  passed  an  hour  in  company  with  Banks,  etc.,  etc. ;  and 
I  had  been  to  a  dress-maker's,  and  going  to  and  fro,  up  and 
down,  in  search  of  a  fine  platter  ! — ignoble  I" 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  Charles  JE.  Butter. 

"  Lenox,  March  27, 1863. 

*  *  *  *  "  Oh  Susy  I  it  is  so  strange  and  lonesome  here  ! 
Louisa  and  her  children  are  lovely  and  dear,  but  theirs  are 
new  faces  and  new  voices ;  and  there  are  so  many  impor 
tunate  memories,  sad  and  solemn,  and,  thank  God,  some  so 
happy,  that  to  me  it  is  inexpressibly  melancholy  and  dreary 
— your  aunt's  condition  most  tragic  of  all.  I  go  over  the 
house  with  some  present  purpose,  but  the  past — the  past  is 
always  before  mo.  My  brother  —  my  beloved  brother  is 
*  The  wounded  boy. 


398  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

every  where  ;  his  children,  the  dead  and  the  living,  about 
him.  When  I  first  came  it  was  so  affecting  to  me  that  it  re 
quired  all  my  fortitude,  all  my  regard  for  others,  not  quite 
to  give  up.  Your  aunt's  cheerful  voice,  and  Louisa's  gentle, 
sweet  submission,  reproved  me — brought  me  to  myself,  and 
now  I  hope  to  be  able,  in  the  few  days  left,  to  be  of  some 
little  comfort  to  Louisa." 

This  was  Miss  Sedgwick's  last  stay  at  Lenox.  She  had 
passed  the  winter,  as  all  her  late  winters,  at  Woodbourne, 
and  early  in  the  spring  went  to  visit  her  sister-in-law,  already 
attacked  by  the  cruel  disease  which,  after  two  years  of  most 
courageous  and  sweet  endurance,  caused  her  death,  and 
Major  Sedgwick's  widow,  who,  with  her  little  children,  was 
then  living  with  his  mother.  She  returned  to  Woodbourne 
the  first  of  April.  The  weather  was  snowy  and  inclement, 
and  made  the  journey  more  than  usually  fatiguing  to  her. 
She  suffered  from  severe  headache  all  the  next  day,  and  to 
ward  evening  was  seized  with  an  attack  of  epilepsy,  which 
kept  her  unconscious  so  long  that  it  was  not  thought  she 
could  survive  twenty-four  hours.  But  her  strong  constitu 
tion,  aided  by  judicious  medical  treatment,  prevailed,  and, 
though  this  -was  indeed  *  the  beginning  of  the  end/  there 
were  long  intervals  of  comparative  ease  and  comfort  before 
her  life  closed.  During  these  she  saw  her  friends  freely, 
spent  much  time  in  writing  to  them  and  in  reading,  and 
even  made  two  more  journeys  to  her  beloved  Stockbridge. 
In  less  than  a  fortnight  after  this  first  attack  she  was  able 
to  write  to  Mrs.  Butler : 

"  Woodbournc,  April  12, 1863. 

"  MY  DEAREST  SUE, — I  feel  pretty  much  like  one  issuing 
from  a  tangled  wood,  with  paths  leading  in  many  directions 
whither  I  would  go,  and  one  whither  I  must  go,  and  that  is 
to  you,  my  dear  child,  for  during  the  last  three  weeks  I  have 


JLife  and  Letters.  399 

been  cut  off  from  all  intercourse  with  the  absent  except  by 
those  most  subtle,  imperceptible  webs  of  thought  that  the 
heart  spins  out  of  itself  by  some  process  more  incompre 
hensible  than  the  spider's,  and  from  secretions  more  myste 
rious,  more  admirable,  for  not  liable  to  change  or  decay/1 

The  rest  of  the  letter,  which  is  quite  a  long  one,  is  chiefly 
occupied  with  tender  inquiries  and  advice  concerning  the 
health  of  Mrs.  Butler's  husband.  There  are  very  few  words 
about  her  own  illness.  A  few  weeks  later  she  writes, "  I  am 
treated  like  a  duchess  by  such  friends  as  few  duchesses 
have,  and,  as  a  proof  of  my  amendment,  I  am  writing  before 
breakfast ;"  and  in  the  next  letter  to  Mrs.  Butler,  dated  in 
May,  she  says : 


*  *  *  *  "The  country,  at  this  moment,  is  Paradise  re 
stored.  Since  my  early  youth  I  have  rarely  seen  the  coun 
try  at  this  season,  and  each  day  is  to  me  like  opening  a 
book  of  divine  revelations.  My  walks  seldom  extend  be 
yond  the  bounds  of  Woodbourne,  but  within  them  we  have 
a  great  variety  of  deciduous  trees  and  blossoming  shrubs. 
The  trees,  in  their  infinite  variety  of  shades  of  tender  green, 
opening  their  teaves  amidst  the  dark  pines,  seem  like  the 
freshness  of  childhood,  and  the  flowers  of  every  hue  touch 
the  chords  of  your  heart  like  its  laugh.  Sickness  and  old 
age  can  not  rob  us  of  these  pleasures,  if  God  in  mercy  spares 
us  our  sense  of  them.  But,  dear  Sue,  I  began  merely  to  tell 
you  that,  though  still  weak,  I  find  myself  improving  from 
week  to  week,  and  quite  free  from  disease.  I  drive  out 
daily,  and  walk  moderately,  eat  with  good  appetite,  and 
sleep  well.  Mercies  to  be  mindful  of.  *  *  *  * 

"  I  went,  on  Saturday,  to  Readville  (the  Freedmen's 
camp),  to  call  on  A.  S.,  and  she  and  her  husband  drove  over 
in  the  evening  and  took  tea  with  us.  To-day  the  regiment 


400  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

is  presented  with  a  flag,  and  on  Monday  they  move.  Poor 
young  people !  The  Freedmen  look  remarkably  well.  I 
saw  colored  ladies  walking  about  the  camp  attended  by  some 
fine,  soldier-like  looking  men,  and  dressed  very  handsomely, 
and,  for  the  most  part  (there  were  some  brilliant  glimmer 
ings  of  color),  in  good  taste." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  Charles  £.  Butler. 

•«  Woodbourne,  June,  1863. 

*  *  *  *  "Since  my  illness  I  have  in  some  respects  be 
haved  with  the  humility  that  one  would  think  should  always 
attend  us,  holding  the  gifts  of  Providence  by  the  tenure  we 
do.  I  don't  lay  out  my  future,  nor  count  upon  it.  I  re 
ceive  gratefully  my  life  from  day  to  day,  assigning  its  dis 
posal  to  the  good  providence  of  God,  and  to  those  who  are 
my  earthly  providence.  Whatever  Kate  tells  me  I  may  do, 
I  do,  and  none  other.  Is  not  that  meekness  ?  and  certain 
ly,  so  far,  I  have  experienced  the  beatitude  of  meekness,  for 
I  have  enjoyed  with  contentment  the  sweetest  comforts  of 
earth." 

Mis s  Sedgwick  to  Rev.  Dr.  Dcwey. 

44  Woodbourne,  July  i,  1863. 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — Your  letter  was  a  great  satisfaction 
to  me.  I  partook,  in  some  sort,  the  parental  joy  and  sister 
ly  pride  that  must  have  risen  in  an  anthem  of  joy  and  praise, 
almost  lifting  the  roof  from  the  dear  old  ancestral  home, 
when  you  heard  that  your  son*  had,  with  so  good  a  will — a 
will  so  strong  and  victorious — paid  his  debt  for  his  country, 
and  that  he  was  safe — for  the  instinct  of  love  can  not  be  lost 
in  any  secondary  emotion. 

*  Dr.  Dewey's  only  son  had  enlisted  in  Ihc  59th  Massachusetts  Regi 
ment,  and  was  one  of  the  volunteers  in  the  forlorn  hope  at  Fort  Hud 
son,  May  27,  1863. 


Life  and  Letters.  401 

*#*#«j  expect  to  go  to  Berkshire  to  pass  some 
months.  *  *  *  * 

*  *  *  *  "  I  try  to  throw  off  all  sad  presages,  and  to  live 
in  strong,  unfaltering  faith  in  that  sure  Providence  that  has 
blessed  all  our  days.  My  love  and  blessing  to  all  yours, 
and  in  never-failing,  never-ending  affection  believe  me  yours, 

"  C.  M.  SEDCWICK." 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Robby  Minot. 

"  Slockbridgc,  July  14,1863. 

"  MY  DARLING  RoniiY, — It  will  be  one  week  to-morrow 
since  you  and  I  walked  round  our  flower-bed,  and  since  then 
the  kind  showers  have  fallen,  and  I  trust  they  are  holding 
up  their  heads  and  smiling  on  you,  and  ready  to  send  their 
love  to  me.  How  is  our  "  lame  tame"  crow  ?  and  how  is 
dear  little  Romeo?  I  want  to  hear  all  you  can  write  me — 
of  Will,  and  Charlie,  and  clear  little  Benjy,  and  you,  my  be 
loved  boy.  All  the  children  here  and  at  Lenox  have  been 
delighted  with  the  walking  doll.  They  all  think  it  was  so 
lucky  that  you  drew  the  doll  for  so  many  of  them  to  enjoy 
it.  There  was  a  party  of  little  girls  on  Saturday,  keeping 
F.  W.'s  birthday,  and  they  all  came  over  to  see  the  doll,  and 
they  were  delighted. 

"  It  is  very  pleasant  to  let  others  enjoy  our  pleasures,  and 
you,  dear  Kobby,  as  you  go  along  in  life,  will  try  to  share 
with  others  your  good  things.  We  should  be  selfish,  miser 
able  creatures  if  we  could  do  nothing  for  others.  Twenty 
little  girls  enjoying  your  doll  is  just  as  good  as  having  twen 
ty  dolls.  God  gives  his  good  gifts  to  all — He  sends  the 
rain  on  the  flowers  at  Woodbourne,  at  Lenox,  at  Stockbrklge 
— every  where.  My  dear  child,  continue  in  your  resolve  to 
'  grow  up  a  good  man/  and  you  will  try  to  do,  as  far  as  you 
can,  good  to  all. 

"  Give  my  love   to  mamma,  and  papa,  and  Willie,  and 


Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

Charlie,  and  Hal,  and  all  at  Aunt  H.'s,  and  to  Aunt  J.  and 
Cousin  L.,  and  the  flowers  that  bloom,  and  the  birds  that 
sing  for  you,  and  come  to  me  as  soon  as  you  can — to  me, 
your  loving  AUNT  KITTY." 

Miss  Sctigwick  to  Mrs.  &  S.  Mi/tot. 

"  Stockbridge,  August  13,  1863. 

"  Mv  DEAREST  KATE, — I  chanced  the  other  day,  in  the 
office  of  the  President  of  the  Senate  and  governor  in  futuro, 
to  see  a  box  of  quill  pens.  I  was  sorely  tempted  to  steal 
one — the  grand  official  being  occupied,  I  could  not  beg  it. 
Since,  through  J.,  I  have  obtained  three,  which,  as  Solicitor 
Davis,  or  his  grandson  W.  M.  would  have  said,  are  as  dear 
to  me  as  if  plucked  from  the  wing  of  the  Archangel.  Oh, 
how  it  glides  over  the  paper  1  how  my  heart's  love  fuses 
and  flows  at  its  touch  I  Thank  Heaven,  I  had  almost  finish 
ed  my  earthly  career  before  I  fell  on  the  evil  times  of  steel 
pens,  which  turn  my  very  heart's  blood  to  hard  steel.  I 
could  as  well  write  with  the  point  of  a  javelin  !" 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Mrs.  Charles  £.  Butter. 

*  ••  Woodbourne,  January  2,  1864. 

"  MY  DEAR  SUSY, — I  can  not  let  the  second  of  January 
pass  without  sending  my  blessing  to  you,  my  own  dear 
child,  and  to  all  my  New  York  children,  whether  by  the  gift 
of  God  or  the  authority  of  the  law,  which,  certainly  in  some 
cases,  is  to  me  '  vox  Dei.1  I  have  not  been  well,  as  you 
probably  know  through  your  Aunt  S.,  but  I  must  have  lost 
all  body,  soul,  and  estate  not  to  feel,  at  this  season  of  mem 
ory  and  hope,  the  pressure  of  love  and  gratitude  straining 
across  my  heart  for  you  all.  *  *  *  *  It  was  a  disappoint 
ment  almost  tragical  to  me  to  be  removed*  on  the  very  day 

*  One  of  the  attacks  to  which  Miss  Scdgwick  was  liable  occurred  as 
she  was  on  her  way  to  church  on  Christinas  Day. 


Life  and  Letters.  403 

of  Christinas,  and  just  as  I  was  on  my  way  to  partake  of  its 
most  solemn  and  dear  consecration — the  communion  ;  but 
I  look  buck  gratefully  to  the  many  returns  I  have  been  per 
mitted  to  enjoy  since  we  used  to  go  in  procession  to  the  lit 
tle  tables  in  Warren  Street.  But  from  looking  back,  let  us 
look  forward,  when  all  the  shadows  shall  have  passed  away." 

Miss  Se<fgitr/?&  to  Mrs.  Charles  E.  Butler. 

44  Woodbournc,  January  27,  1864. 

"  DEAREST  SUE, — I  am  deeply  indebted  to  my  New  York 
children  ;  but,  as  I  am  under  strict  surveillance,  I  must 
limit  myself  to  conveying  to  you  a  hint  that  may  be  of  use 
in  the  regulation  of  your  *fair.  *  *  *  *  But,  for  mercy's 
sake,  don't  suggest  that  the  oracular  people  of  Boston  claim 
superior  sagacity.  I  merely  suggest  the  result  of  experi 
ence,  and  a  possible  mode  of  avoiding  the  greatest  bother 
here. 

"I  have  a  letter  begun  to  B.,  asking  her  if  F.  can  not  set 
that  grand  heroic  poetry  of  Bryant's  to  some  patriotic  Ger 
man  air — '  Not  yet.'  I  am  so  ignorant  that  I  do  not  even 
know  if  it  can  be  sung,  but  it  struck  me  that  the  refrain 
'Afc,'  if  shouted  by  a  multitude  of  voices  at  the  opening  of 
the  fair,  might  be  grand  in  .effect.  Do  talk  this  over  with 
B.  and  F.  Thank  dearest  H.  for  a  most  delicious  letter. 
Tell  him  the  first  Unitarian  meeting  was,  I  think,  in  Mrs. 
Russell's  parlor.  We  met  first  as  a  society  in  a  medical 
room,  I  think,  nt  the  corner  of  Reade  Street  and  Broadway, 
and  there,  I  think,  we  counted  in  all  three  female  voices,  and 
never  shall  I  forget  the  thrilling  sweetness  of  your  Aunt 
Jane's. 

"  Oh,  Sue,  how  has  my  heart  been  thrilled  with  the  due 

*  Mrs.  Butler  was  one  of  the  managers  of  the  New  York  Fair  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Sanitary  Commission,  and  had  charge  of  the  daily  paper, 
44  The  Spirit  of  the  Fair,"  Issued  during  its  continuance. 


404  JLife  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

honor  to  be  recorded  to  my  brothers  on  the  walls  into  which 
their  very  hearts  were  built  I*  Tell  B.  her  letters  have  been 
nectar  to  me.  I  am  much  better.  Love  to  dear  C.  and 
your  children  ;  love  and  blessing.  Don't  exhaust  yourself. 
"  Yours  as  ever,  C.  M.  SEDGWICK." 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  JRw.  Dr.  Dewey. 

"  Woodbournc,  February  24,  1864. 

"My  DEAR  FRIEND, — Many  thanks  for  your  letter  re 
ceived  yesterday.  I  must  respond  to  its  affectionate  con 
cern,  if  it  be  but  by  a  *  bulletin  ;'  I  hate  to  write  by  another's 
hand  to  those  I  love.  *  *  *  * 

*  *  *  *  "  I  am  better,  though,  from  the  nature  of  my  ill 
nesses,  always  in  dread.  But,  thank  God,  I  enjoy  much — 
the  sweet  vicissitudes  of  day  and  night — my  many  and  kind 
friends — W.'s ./?//>?/  care,  and  K.'s  unfailing  sweetness — the 
angel  ministry  of  the  children — this  exquisite  winter.  I 
walk  out  dajly,  and  every  day,  in  spite  of  the  cold  and  tem 
pestuous  wind  of  last  week,  I  sat  for  hours  on  the  lounge  in 
the  piazza,  looking  at  the  green  trees,  and  thus  healing  my 
eyes,  and  basking  in  the  sunshine. 

****"!  too  dread,  but  not  fear,  for  I  never  so  felt  the 
goodness  and  love  of  God,  andjfrom  the  memory  of  his  mer 
cies  springs  trust.  I  hate  to  shut  my  eyes  on  the  pleasant 
light ;  but  how  came  we,  ignorant  and  helpless,  into  this 
world,  and  found  every  needful  help,  and  a  world  of  love  I" 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Mrs.  C/tas.  E.  flutter. 

"  Woodbournc,  March  12, 1864, 

"  MY  DEAREST  SUE, — It  is  a  great  white  since  we  have 

*  This  refers  to  a  proposition  (never  carried  into  effect)  to  place  a 
tablet  in  Dr.  Bcllows'a  church  commemorating  Miss  Scdgwick's  broth 
ers  I  Tarry  and  Robert  as  among  the  earliest  and  most  zealous  founders 
of  the  first  Unitarian  Church  in  New  York. 


JLifc  and  Letters,  405 

had  any  communication  except  that  mysterious  one  when 
spirit  goes  out  to  spirit.  I  have  just  come  in  from  the  pi 
azza,  where  I  have  distorted  on  my  lounge,  breathing  in  the 
elixir  of  life — the  pure  air,  gazing  at  the  pines  and  the  clear, 
intervening  blue  sky.  My  beloved  little  boys  are  playing 
in  the  sunshine,  and  coming  to  me  ever  and  anon  with  a 
shower  of  kisses,  and  bits  of  moss  and  green  buds  that  are 
prematurely  venturing  forth  on  this  wonderful  spring  weath 
er.  5  P.M. — While  I  was  writing,  dear  Sue,  your  letter,  a 
missive  on  wings — angel  wings — was  on  its  way  to  me.  It 
stood  me  well  in  place  of  all  other  company  at  my  solitary 
dinner  to-day — the  sweetest  of  condiments.  Glad  am  I  to 
hear  that  you  are  getting  well  through  your  literary  cares. 
And  what  a  laurel  wreath  your  letter  from  Gasparin  is  I  I 
am  not  surprised  by  E.'s  poetry.  He  has  the  divine  ele 
ments  of  poetry  in  him.  Make  R.  write  for  you.  Send  me 
your  paper  the  moment  it  is  out.11 

Miss  Settgwick  to  Mrs.  C/tas.  £.  Butler. 

"June  i,  1864. 

"  Mv  DEAR  SUE, — I  wonder  if  Eve  could  write  letters  iu 
Paradise  I  But,  poor  Eve,  she  had  no  one  to  write  to — no 
one  to  whom  to  tell  what  Eden  was,  no  beloved  child  to 
whom  her  love  traveled  through  any  or  all  space.  Poor 
Eve  I" 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  JKev.  Dr.  JDewey. 

••  Woodbournc,  July  22,  1864. 

"  *  You  had  better  lay  aside  your  writing  materials,  Miss 
Sedgwick,  and  take  a  nap.'  So  speaks  my  maid,  Martha. 
;^0 — no,  indeed — not  till  I  have  told  you  that  at  last,  my 
dearest  friend,  your  book*  is  in  my  possession — not  till  I 
have  thanked  you  for  it.  You  know  that  I  breakfast  in  bed, 
*  The  Problem  of  Human  Destiny. 


406  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

and  here  write  my  letters.  My  eyes  will  not  permit  me  to 
read  much  at  any  time,  and  nothing,  save  a  few  verses  in  the 
Bible,  before  breakfast.  But  I  could  not  help  opening  your 
book,  and  opened,  I  read  the  preface,  and  the  contents  of 
the  first  chapter,  and  then  felt  an  emotion  akin  in  keenness 
(in  nothing  else)  to  that  of  a  miser  who,  from  an  untold 
store,  should  have  a  guinea  dropped  into  his  lap  ! 

"  We  are,  indeed,  all  enriched  if  God  has  given  you  the 
key  to  these  high  mysteries ;  perhaps  I  should  rather  say, 
imitating  your  own  modesty,  permits  you  to  throw  a  light  on 
them  ;  for  has  He  not,  in  the  mission  and  teaching  of  Christ, 
given  the  key  to  all  who,  in  faith,  obedience,  and  patience, 
use  it? 

"  I  am  not  now  in  condition  to  read  such  a  book,  but  with 
caution,  chapter  by  chapter,  paragraph  by  paragraph,  I  may 
read  it,  and  be  instructed,  encouraged,  consoled — lifted  out 
of  myself  by  it ;  and  I  may  hold  it  in  my  hand,  and  thank 
God  that  the  writer  is  my  friend. 

******  I  have  come  to  my  greatest  trial  of  self-denial 
from  the  contraction  of  my  little  income  by  the  war.  I  must 
give  up  the  daily  *  Evening  Post,'  which  has  been  a  great 
consolation  to  me  ever  since  my  exile  from  my  New  York 
friends.  It  has  been  a  sort  of  daily  intercourse  with  the 
Bryants.  It  is  an  old  familiar  friend,  endeared  by  the  recol 
lections  of  my  childhood.  From  its  first  establishment — 
now  sixty-three  years — I  have  seen  it.  Colman,  the  first 
eclitor,  was  my  father's  friend.  Since  Bryant's  editorship,  I 
have  looked  upon  it  as  my  political  text-book.  *  *  *  * 

#  *  *  *  «  Even  my  maid,  witnessing  my  daily  enjoyment 
of  it,  pleads  with  me  to  continue  it ;  but  alas  1  necessity,  that 
knows  no  law,  knows  no  indulgence,  and  this  must  go." 

It  can  not  be  an  infringement  upon  propriety  to  say  that 
Mr.  Bryant,  on  being  made  aware  of  the  reason  for  Miss 


and  Letters.  407 

Sedgwick's  discontinuance  of  the  paper,  sent  it  to  her,  with 
equal  delicacy  and  kindness,  during  the  rest  of  her  life. 

Miss  Scdgwick  to  Afrs.  Charles  JS.  Butler. 

11  Woodbourne,  September  4,  1864. 

"What  a  grand  book  is  this  *  Problem  of  Human  Destiny  I* 
At  first  I  rather  recoiled  from  the  title,  and  feared  to  find  it 
metaphysical,  and  dealing  in  subjects  that  neither  he  or  we 
could  understand.  You  will  read  it,  dear  Sue,  and,  reading, 
you  will  study  it,  and,  studying  it,  you  will  distill  from  it  in-* 
stniction  of  infinite  worth  for  your  children.  It  is  enriched 
by  great  thoughts — truths  of  immense  magnitude,  and  beau 
tiful  illustrations,  and  is  often  even  pathetic  in  the  views  it 
presents  of  the  beneficence  of  the  Deity,  and  is  consoling  to 
troubled,  fermenting  ignorance." 

Miss  SedgwU-k  to  Rev.  JDr.  Deivey. 

"  Boston,  December  10, 1864. 

****«!  have  been  here  for  the  last  three  weeks,  and 
had  much  enjoyment  from  seeing  old  friends,  and  have  had 
the  honor  and  pleasure  of  a  call  from  Whittier.  He  has  a 
face  and  manner  fitting  his  high  gifts  and  mission.  I  have 
walked  daily,  and  sat  for  two  hours  in  the  Public  Garden. 
Am  I  not  a  brave  old  woman  ? 

"  Since  I  wrote  to  you,  my  heroic  sister*  has  passed  on — 
a  blessed  release  in  all  senses — most  blessed  to  her,  if  we 
can  believe,  as  Jeremy  Taylor  says,  that  Death  gives  more 
than  it  takes  away. 

*  *  *  *  «  A S bade  me  farewell  Friday  evening. 

She  has  returned  to  her  hospital  work  at  Beverly,  New  Jer 
sey,  where  my  Cousin  E and  S E are  good 

soldiers  in  a  holy  warfare.     What  a  different  consecration 

from  that  of  nuns  !     How  blessed  are  the  single  women  of 

*  Mrs.  Charles  Scdgwick. 


408  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Sedgwick, 

our  country,  who  have  found  such  new  and  blessed  channels 
for  those  affections  which-  crave  and  will  have  a  channel ! 
Surely  more  acceptable  to  God  is  the  tending  and  solacing 
of  sick  soldiers  than  protracted  prayers  kneeling  upon  stone 
floors. 

"  Mr.  M has  had  and  enjoyed  much  a  visit  from  his 

classmate,  Governor  Lincoln,  aged  eighty-two,  and  as  vigor 
ous  and  more  nimble  than  most  men  of  thirty  I  He  says  he 
has  been  a  very  temperate  consumer  of  animal  food,  drank 
wine,  tea,  and  coffee  every  day,  and  never  lay  down  in  the 
daytime  during  his  life  1  Should  not  all  the  vigilant  saints 
and  nymphs  guard  his  pillow?  And  we  have  had  a  visit 

from  T ,  a  charming  man,  resembling  in  face  and  mind 

my  brother  Charles.  I  loved  him  'peremptorily,'  and  should 
without  other  cause.  Does  not  Choate  deserve  a  crown  for 
that  saying, '  Thank  heaven,  there  are  not  many  that  we  hate 
peremptorily  ?' 

"  In  advance,  dear  friends  all,  father,  mother,  and  chil 
dren,  let  me  wish  you  a  Happy  New  Year — fervently  do  I 
pray  it  may  run  a  blessed  course  for  you !" 

The  handwriting  of  this  letter  is  very  tremulous,  and  the 
few  that  followed  it  were  for  the  greater  part  dictated.  The 
invalid  would,  however,  frequently  send  one  or  two  lines 
only,  written  by  her  own  hand,  to  a  friend,  as  a  greeting  and 
remembrance  from  "a  heart  that  yearned  to  give"  to  the 
last,  and  which  no  sickness  could  make  forgetful.  Her 
bodily  powers  were  more  affected  than  those  of  her  mind. 
The  disease  made  very  gradual  inroads  upon  the  brain,  and 
when  these  became  manifest,  her  loss  of  judgment  took  the 
very  characteristic  form  of  increased  and  less  discriminating 
admiration  of  every  thing  around  her.  And  so,  in  the  beau 
tiful  retirement  she  loved,  surrounded  by  the  tenderest  min 
istrations,  and  without  much  acute  suffering,  her  life  wore 
gently  away  to  its  close. 


JLtfe  and  Letters.  409 

Rev.  Dr.  Bellows  to  Miss  Sedgwick. 

•'  New  York,  October  7,  1866. 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — Thank  you  for  thinking  of  me,  and 
sending  me  one  more  written  token  of  your  continued  affec 
tion  1  To-day  has  been  our  communion  service,  a  day  that 
has  always  brought  me  flocking  thoughts  of  all  those  long- 
absent  but  once  familiar  guests  at  our  love-feast.  I  miss 
you  and  your  brothers  and  sisters  there,  but  feel  as  if  in 
spirit  all  of  you  were  with  us.  I  continually  pray  for  all 
those  whom  sickness  or  age  oppresses,  and  shall  not  forget 
how  tenderly  entitled  to  my  best  prayers  you,  who  have  been 
so  much  for  all  of  us,  are,  in  your  seclusion  and  decline. 
You,  who  have  *  loved  much1  all  your  life,  are  in  the  heart 
and  in  the  prayers  of  hundreds  of  grateful,  affectionate 
friends.  I  meet  very  often  with  fond,  respectful 'inquiries 
about  you,  and  I  never  hear  your  name  coupled  with  any 
thing  but  reverence  and  love.  Those  retired  from  the  world, 
who  have  served  it  well,  seem  to  those  still  in  it  already 
above  them,  and  in  a -sort  of  outer-court  of  heaven,  and  your 
words  come  to  me  almpst  as  if  the  door  of  the  celestial  city 
were  ajar,  and  I  had  overheard  some  of  the  angels  talking.11 

2tcv.  Dr.  Bellows,  to  Miss  Settgiuick. 

'« New  York,  May  16,  1867. 

"My  DEAR  FRIEND, — I  write  only  to  say  good-by,  for 
before  another  Sunday  we  shall  be  on  the  ocean.  I  have  a 
delightful  recollection  of  my  short  visit  to  you,  and  shall 
think  of  you  very  often,  and  pray  for  you  as  often  as  I  think 
of  you.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  friend.  You  have  been 
trying  all  your  precious  life  to  make  others  happy  and  good, 
and  the  gracious  Father,  whose  chosen  name  is  love,  knows 
your  loving  heart,  and  will  say  at  the  last,  as  he  takes  you 
into  his  everlasting  acceptance, '  For  she  loved  much !'  Don't 

S 


410  Life  of  Catharine  M".  Segdwicfc. 

let  that  pale  slave  we  call  Death — who  is  the  mere  porter  at 
the  gate  of  Life — affright  your  heart.  He  is  the  most  harm 
less  creature,  spite  of  his  grim  looks.  Oh,  if  the  brothers 
and  sisters  who  have  gone  before  could  only  show  you  the 
expression  of  their  triumphant  faces,  how  brave  you  would 
feel  to  meet  the  change  that  will  give  you  back  health  and 
youth,  and  the  past  and  the  future,  all  in  one  !" 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  jRev.  Dr.  £)ewey. 

••  Woodbournc,  June  24,  1867. 

"  Since  yesterday  morning  I  have  not  expected  to  outlive 
the  longest  days,  but  I  must  use  this  prolonged  time  to  bless 
my  dear  friend  for  the  lifelong  blessing  of  his  friendship. 

"  I  have  suffered  these  last  days  from  the  cowardice  of 
my  cowardly  nature,  from  the  imperfection  of  my  faith  and 
love ;  but  I  have  enjoyed  much  from  the  tenderness  of  my 
friends,  from  the  transcendent  beauty  of  nature,  from  its 
revelations  of  love.*  I  have  longed  to  hear  your  voice  in 
prayer  for  me,  sure  it  would  have  strengthened  me  ;  but, 
though  I  have  not  heard  it,  our  gracious  Father  has.  I  have 
more  mercies  than  I  can  remember.  *  *  *  * 

"Yours  to  the  last,  C.  M.  SEDGWICK." 

Miss  Sedgwick  to  Afrs.  Charles  JS.  Butler. 

•*  Woodbournc,  July  19,  1867. 

"Mv  DEAR  SUSY, — I  was  in  a  wretched  state  when  I  rc- 

*  And  these  she  continued  to  enjoy  tilt  the  last  moment  of  conscious* 
ness.  She  had  the  habit,  in  her  days  of  health,  of  spending  at  least  half 
an  hour  every  day  before  breakfast  in  out-of-door  exercise,  and,  when 
her  increasing  infirmities  cut  her  off  from  this  pleasure,  she  still  wel 
comed  the  fresh  mornin£air  by  throwing  open  all  her  windows.  Bcsido 
one  of  them  she  daily  knelt  to  offer  her  morning  devotion ;  then,  going 
to  the  chamber  of  her  darling  Robert,  she  knelt  again  by  his  deserted 
bedside,  to  breathe  prayers  for  him  which  may  follow  him  with  blessing 
all  the  day>i  of  his  life. 


Life  and  Letters*  4 1 1 

ceived  your  last  letter.  I  was  hypochondriacal \  but  it  dis 
armed  hypochondria,  and  threw  the  blue  devils  on  the  other 
side.  I  have  been  very  poorly  of  late,  and  have  driven  out 
to-day  for  the  first  time  in  several  days,  and  feel  much  bet 
ter  for  it.  I  had  quite  a  long  visit  from  Dr.  Hedge,  the 
prince  of  divines.  He  tells  me,  to  my  great  cheer,  of  dear 
Dr.  Bellows's  success  in  his  tour.  *  *  *  * 

"  I  have  a  balcony  out  of  Kate's  window  in  the  pine  wood, 
where  I  lie  all  day,  and  where  the  mercies  and  love  of  God 
are  continually  pressing  upon  my  senses.  But  His  hard 
work,  Susy,  to  be  sick,  and  helpless,  and  useless  I'1 

That  mortal  weariness  was  now  to  end.  Before  this  let 
ter  reached  its  destination,  the  tired  body  was  at  rest  and 
the  spirit  freed.  Mercifully  unconscious  of  the  final  parting, 
Miss  Sedgwick  crossed  that  '  narrow  sea1  which  had  former 
ly  seemed  so  terrible  to  her  timid,  shrinking  physical  nature. 
She  had,  indeed,  attained  that  trust  in  God  which  is  truly 
willing  to  take  all  things  from  his  hand,  but  she  was  too 
much  like  Bunyan's  tender-spirited  Mercy  not  to  have  rath 
er  a  trembling  hope  than  confidence,  and  it  is  sweet  to  think 
that  she  was  spared  all  fear  or  suffering  at  the  last. 

She  died,  and  left  our  world  sadly  the  poorer  for  the  lack 
of  that  gracious  presence.  Many  a  one,  even  of  those  by 
whom  it  was  seldom  seen,  felt  that 

"  A  light  had  pass'cl  from  the  revolving  year, 
And  man,  and  woman/' 

now  that  it  could  be  seen  no  more.  In  many  a  humble 
room  tears  were  shed  for  her  who  brought  better  than  food, 
or  clothes,  or  even  work — and  she  was  liberal  of  these — in 
the  kindly  sympathy,  wise  advice,  and  cheerful  interest  that 
lightened  the  hearts  of  the  poor  ;*  and  many,  in  the  midst  of 

*  The  day  after  her  death,  a  young  woman  came  hoping  to  see  her  and 
carry  from  her  some  token  of  remembrance  to  the  daughter  of  a  woman 


4 1 2  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

wealth)  wept  that  they  could  never  again  receive  the  finer 
luxuries  of  wit,  appreciation,  and  tenderness  nt  her  dear 
hands.  But  in  the  large  and  loving  circle  gathered  to  meet 
her  there  must  have  been  deep  gladness  as  she  came,  and 
in  the  thought  of  her  release  from  the  body  which  had  be 
come  a  burden,  and  of  the  unchecked  activity  of  her  most 
loving  nature,  those  who  miss  her  most  must  find  a  true  and 
tender  consolation. 

who,  when  a  young  orphan,  had  been  taken  into  Miss  Scdgvvick's  cm* 
ploymcnt,  and  lived  with  her  as  a  maid,  though  treated  almost  as  a  com 
panion,  and  tenderly  cared  for,  till  she  married.  S/u-  had  long  been  dead, 
l>ut  the  daughter  had  inherited  her  lovo  and  reverence  for  Miss  Scdg- 
\vick,  and  the  daughter's  friend  looked  upon  the  lifeless  form,  and  carried 
away  as  relics  some  leaves  from  the  plants  growing  in  the  room,  with 
almost  the  feeling  of  u  devout  Catholic  to  a  canonized  saint. 


APPENDICES, 


I.    LETTER    FROM    MRS.  FRANCES    ANNE    KEMBLE   TO 
MRS.  WILLIAM  MINOT,  JR. 

II.  SKETCH  OF  MISS  SEDGWICK'S  CONNECTION  WITH 
THE  WOMEN'S  PRISON  ASSOCIATION  OF  NEW 
YORK,  BY  MRS.  JAMES  S.  GIBBONS. 

III.  LETTER  FROM  THE  REV.  DR.  DEWEY  TO  MRS.  WIL 

LIAM  MINOT,  JR. 

IV.  REMINISCENCES  OF  MISS  SEDGWICK,  BY  WILLIAM 

CULLEN  BRYANT. 


LETTER  TO  MRS.  WILLIAM  MI  NOT,  JR. 

FROM     MRS.   FRANCES    ANNE    KEMBLE. 


Philadelphia,  April  25,  1869. 

You  ask  me,  my  dear  K.,  for  some  sketch  of  my  personal 
recollections  of  your  aunt,  and  no  one,  beloved  of  her  as  you 
were,  could  ask  me  any  thing  that  I  would  not  endeavor  to 
do  ;  but  my  recollections  of  your  aunt  stretch  over  a  period 
of  so  many  years,  during  which  she  was  to  me  the  tenderest 
of  friends — years  of  such  varied  fortunes,  of  so  much  joy  and 
so  much  sorrow,  in  all  of  which  she  participated  with  the 
whole  sympathy  of  her  most  sympathizing  nature,  that  her 
image  calls  up  that  of  my  whole  life  and  all  its  vicissitudes, 
since  first  I  came  to  your  country  in  1832,  and  fills  me  with 
emotions  little  favorable  to  any  deliberate  mental  process. 
The  d^fys  of  enjoyment  whose  pleasures  were  enhanced  by 
her  companionship,  the  hours  of  misery  whose  burden  was 
lightened  by  her  compassion,  the  vivid  intellectual  pleasure 
of  her  conversation,  the  delightful  fellowship  of  our  walks 
and  drives  through  the  lovely  hill  country  of  Lenox,  the  life 
of  intimate  and  almost  daily  communion  with  that  bright 
spirit  and  tender  heart,  all  come  thronging  back  upon  my 
memory,  and  I  sit  with  my  pen  in  my  hand,  remembering, 
indeed,  but  hardly  able  to  write. 

Your  aunt  did  me  the  honor  to  call  on  me  soon  after  my 
arrival  in  New  York,  and  was  among  my  first  American  ac 
quaintances,  and  was  my  first  American  friend.  She  was 


416  Life  of  Catharine  Af.  Scdgiuick. 

then,  I  suppose,  between  thirty  and  forty  years  old,  of  a 
slight  and  graceful  figure,  the  movements  of  which  were  re 
markably  light  and  elastic,  and  with  a  countenance  in  which 
bright  intelligence,  a  keen  sense  of  humor,  and  an  almost 
pathetic  tenderness  of  expression  were  charmingly  com 
bined.  None  of  these  winning  attributes  had  departed  from 
my  dear  friend's  form  and  face  up  to  the  last  time  of  my 
seeing  her,  and  it  is  some  consolation  to  me  for  my  separa 
tion  from  her  during  the  last  years  of  her  life  that  my  latest 
vision  of  her  was  (considering  the  interval  between  them) 
but  little  different  from  the  earliest ;  the  graceful  figure  had 
not  grown  heavy,  nor  the  tender  countenance  harsh,  nor  had 
the  liberal  mind  become  narrowed,  nor  the  warm  heart 
chilled  under  the  touch  of  Time. 

Perhaps  the  quality  which  most  peculiarly  distinguished 
your  aunt  from  other  remarkable  persons  I  have  known  was 
her  great  simplicity  and  transparency  of  character — a  charm 
seldom  combined  with  as  much  intellectual  keenness  as  she 
possessed,  and  very  seldom  retained  by  persons  living  as 
much  as  she  did  in  the  world,  and  receiving  from  society 
a  tribute  of  general  admiration.  She  was  all  through  her 
life  singularly  childlike,  and  loved  with  a  perfect  sympathy 
of  spirit  those  of  whom  it  is  said, "  of  such  is  the  kfhgdom 
of  heaven."  Nothing  could  be  more  affecting  and  striking 
than  the  close  affinity  between  her  pure  and  tender  nature 
and  that  of  the  "  little  children"  who  were  irresistibly  drawn 
to  her ;  alike  those  who  lived  within  the  circle  of  her  love, 
and  those  on  whom  only  the  kindly  influence  of  her  tran 
sient  notice  fell.  I  think,  in  her  intercourse  with  the  more 
"  sophisticate"  elder  members  of  society,  Miss  Sedgwick's 
acute  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  in  all  its  aggressive  forms  of 
assumption,  presumption,  pretension,  and  affectation,  was  so 
keen  that  in  a  less  amiable  person  it  might  have  degener 
ated  into  a  tendency  to  sarcasm,  and  made  a  satirist  of  one 


Letter  from  Mrs.  Frances  Anne  Kcmbk.  417 

who  was  pre-eminently  a  sympathizer  with  her  fellow-creat 
ures.  As  a  writer,  I  feel  less  inclined  to  speak  of  her  very 
considerable  merit,  because  the  verdict  of  the  public  ap 
proval  was  deservedly  awarded  to  her  books  as  they  ap 
peared,  and  because,  when  thinking  of  //<.v,  I  seldom  think 
of  them,  feeling  like  the  daughter  of  the  admirable  Pasta, 
who  said  to  a  friend, "  You  think  my  mother's  singing  be 
yond  praise,  and  so  it  is,  and  yet,  to  us  who  know  //<?/-,  it  is  the 
thing  we  prize  least  about  her."  The  pre-eminent  charac 
teristic  of  her  intellect,  as  well  as  of  her  whole  character, 
was  its  perfect  womanliness,  and  assuredly,  if  she  claimed  a 
place  in  the  honorable  sisterhood  of  "  Blue  Stockings,"  it 
was  among  those  most  honorable  members  of  it  to  whom 
the  arch  critic  Jeffrey  said  he  had  no  objection,  for  their  pet 
ticoats  "  hid  the  hose."  Of  the  society  which  gathered  sum 
mer  after  summer  to  the  pleasant  hill  region,  the  seat  of  her 
family  home,  attracted  thither  even  more  by  the  delightful 
intercourse  of  its  various  gifted  members  than  by  the  pure 
air  and  fine  scenery  of  Berkshire,  Miss  Sedgwick  was  the 
centre  and  soul,  dispensing  the  most  graceful  hospitality, 
and  doing  the  honors  of  her  beautiful  hills  and  valleys  to 
her  visitors  with  an  unwearied  kindliness  and  courtesy  that 
must  forever  have  combined  in  their  memories  the  most  de 
lightful  social  intercourse  with  the  most  charming  natural 
scenery. 

To  the  poor,  who  were  rich  in  having  her  for  a  neighbor, 
she  was  the  most  devoted  and  faithful  of  friends,  sympathiz 
ing  with  all  their  interests,  soothing  their  sorrows,  supplying 
their  wants,  solacing  their  sufferings  with  an  exquisite  tact, 
which  her  knowledge  of  and  skill  in  the  homeliest,  as  well 
as  highest  feminine  accomplishments,  rendered  as  efficient 
as  it  was  tender  and  unwearied.  To  be  poor,  sick,  or  sor 
rowful  seemed  scarcely  hardships  within  the  sphere  of  her 
gentle  ministry  of  comfort.  There  is  not  one  of  the  lowly 

S  2 


418  Life  of  Catharine  M. 

dwellings  within  miles  round  Lenox  and  Slockbridge  that 
her  feet  ever  entered  where  her  name  is  not  synonymous 
with  goodness,  and  her  memory  hallowed  with  grateful  bless 
ings. 

Of  what  she  was  in  that  circle  of  good,  gifted  human 
beings  to  which  by  family  ties  she  belonged,  I  may  not 
speak  while  so  many  still  remain  who  rejoiced  in  her  daily 
influence,  and  whose  hearts  would  find  all  words  worse  than 
inadequate  to  express  how  sweet  and  noble  that  influence 
was. 

Early  in  my  acquaintance  with  Miss  Sedgwick,  my  admi 
ration  for  her  became  affection,  and  the  love  and  respect 
with  which  I  soon  learned  to  regard  her  increased  and 
deepened  till  the  end  of  our  intercourse.  Her  memory  now 
remains  to  me  as  that  of  one  of  the  most  charming,  most 
amiable,  and  most  excellent  persons  I  have  ever  known. 


SKETCH  OF  MISS  SEDGWICK'S  CONNECTION 
WITH  THE  WOMEN'S  PRISON  ASSOCIATION 
OF  NEW  YORK. 

BY    MRS.  JAMES    S.  CIOOONS. 


IT  was  in  the  early  clays  of  the  Women's  Prison  Associa 
tion  of  New  York  that  Miss  Catharine  M.  Seclgwick  ap 
peared  at  one  of  its  stated  meetings  as  a  visitor,  on  which 
occasion  her  grace  of  manner  and  pleasant  voice  so  attract 
ed  me,  and  I  was  so  much  impressed  by  her  presence,  that 
I  was  about  to  inquire  who  she  was,  when  she  took  me  cor 
dially  by  the  hand,  saying,  "  I  understand  you  are  the  daugh 
ter  of  Isaac  T.  Hopper,  and  I  must  know  you." 

This  was  the  beginning  of  an  intimate  acquaintance,  and 
at  once  I  besought  her  to  become  a  member  of  the  society. 

To  this  request  she  readily  assented,  and  the  next  year 
she  was  chosen  our  president,  which  office  she  held,  beloved 
and  reverenced  by  all,  until  her  death. 

We  were  soon  brought  into  close  companionship  by  vis 
its  to  the  prisons  and  kindred  institutions,  especially  the 
Tombs,  BlackwelPs,  and  Randall's  Island.  The  hospital 
claimed  much  of  her  interest,  perhaps  because  there  her  ten- 
dcrest  sympathies  were  enlisted.  In  her  visitations  she 
was  called  upon  to  kneel  by  the  bedside  of  the  sick  and 
dying.  The  sweetness  of  her  spirit,  and  the  delicacy  of  her 
nature,  felt  by  all  who  came  within  her  atmosphere,  seemed 
to  move  the  unfortunate  to  ask  this  office  from  her,  and  it 


420  Life  of  Catharine  Jkf.  Sedgwick. 

was  never  asked  in  vain.  So  tenderly  shrinking  was  she 
that  she  sought  opportunities  for  such  ministrations  when 
no  ear  heard,  no  eye  beheld  her,  and  many  an  erring  sister 
was  soothed  and  comforted  as  she  passed  through  the  dark 
valley  by  the  heavenly  voice  of  this  angel  of  mercy. 

At  the  Isaac  T.  Hopper  Home  she  labored  faithfully  for 
this  class  of  humanity,  and  for  many  successive  years  dur 
ing  her  sojourn  in  this  city,  attended  by  her  niece  Helen, 
with  her  favorite  dog,  she  devoted  Sunday  afternoons  to  a 
Bible-class,  and  sometimes  to  the  reading  of  such  books  as 
met  the  needs  of  the  inmates.  Sometimes  the  hours  were 
passed  in  conversation,  one  and  another  relating  their  sor 
rows  and  misfortunes,  and  receiving  in  their  turn  the  balm 
which  flowed  from  a  heart  touched  with  a  sense  of  their  in 
firmities,  and  accepting  the  lesson  that  "  to  cease  to  do  evil 
and  learn  to  do  well"  was  the  way  to  a  new  and  better  life. 

Miss  Sedgwick  was  a  woman  by  herself— so  genial  and 
loving,  so  easily  wrought  upon,  and  so  readily  moved  to 
compassion  for  the  sad  and  untoward  experiences  of  her 
unhappy  sisters,  that  her  very  presence  was  peace. 

Those  with  whom  she  was  associated  in  prison-visiting 
can  testify  to  her  wonderful  power  of  winning  the  confi 
dence  of  a  class  whose  need  was  kindness,  and  such  coun 
sel  as  furnished  food  for  reflection ;  consequently,  her  vis 
its  were  attended  with  the  happiest  results. 

Many  of  the  prisoners  were  mothers  of  children  who  were 
in  the  nurseries  assigned  to  the  city's  poor,  and  there  be 
gan  a  work  of  never-failing  interest  and  humanity.  Seated 
on  long  benches,  erect  as  their  frail,  emaciated  bodies  per 
mitted,  were  rows  of  motherless  and  deserted  children, 
lonely,  spirit-broken  to  the  last  degree,  suffering,  without  a 
ray  of  sunlight.  It  was  not  strange  that  she  witnessed  the 
scene  in  tears,  and  in  these  darkest  of  all  days,  sought  some 
means  by  which  to  light  up  the  existence,  and  strew  flov  jrs 


Letter  from  Mrs.  James  S.  Gibbons.  421 

in  the  pathway  of  these  little  wanderers.  And  so  she  ini 
tiated  the  Fourth  of  July  Festival.  Listen  to  her  call : 

"We  invite  all  who,  like  the  good  vicar,  Move  happy  hu 
man  faces,'  to  go  to  Randall's  Island  on  the  Fourth.  Go 
there  to  see  that  lovely  island  in  its  rich  natural  beauty. 
Go  to  see  the  wise  and  generous  provisons  the  city  has  made 
for  its  young  pensioners,  by  which  they  are  to  become  a 
crown  instead  of  a  curse  to  us.  Go  there  to  make  the  bond 
that  binds  the  children  to  their  benefactors  recognized'  and 
felt.  Let  all  who  contribute  to  the  festival  go  there  and 
see  the  good  to  be  done  by  addressing  the  sense  and  love 
of  beauty ;  how  surely  it  exalts  the  angelic  portion  of  our 
nature,  and  depresses  the  sensual  and  brutish.11 

These  fOtes  were  seasons  of  great  rejoicing  to  the  chil 
dren,  and  most  liberal  were  the  supplies  of  flowers  and  good 
things.  But  the  extreme  heat  made  it  a  hard  day's  duty, 
and  Christmas  Day  was  fixed  upon  for  bestowing  dolls,  toys, 
and  books,  and  the  custom  has  continued  to  the  present  time. 

Christmas  is  alike  regarded  by  rich  and  poor,  and  to 
come  together  for  mutual  enjoyment  on  this  happiest  day 
of  all  the  year  has  become  an  institution  which  those  inter- 
estc.%  are  not  likely  to  abandon. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  occasions  that  a  gentleman  of  the 
party  placed  a  doll  on  the  arm  of  a  dying  child.  Recov 
ering  consciousness  for  a  moment,  she  pressed  it  to  her  lips, 
while  a  smile  lit  up  her  death-like  face.  "  Good  doll  1"  she 
exclaimed,  and  again  kissed  it.  "These  are  among  the  last 
words  she  will  speak,"  observed  the  doctor,  and  the  next 
day  the  child  died. 

Innumerable  cases  might  be  added  showing  the  effect  of 
this  charity,  which  may  be  recorded  as  among  the  sweet 
memories  of  our  beloved  friend ;  but  this  will  suffice  to 
keep  alive  and  active  the  spirit  which  prompted  her  to  alle 
viate  the  sufferings  of  lonely  and  destitute  children. 


422  Lift:  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

To  return  to  "The  Home,"  to  which  her  labors  were 
chiefly  directed,  we  find  her  practical  in  this  work  of  refor 
mation.  She  employed  the  inmates  in  her  own  home,  and 
recommended  them  to  friends,  believing  that  favorable  cir 
cumstances  and  kindness  were  the  means  best  adapted  to 
save  them  from  an  evil  life. 

When  she  withdrew  from  active  co-operation  with  us,  the 
loss  was  unspeakable,  although  it  inspired  others  with  the 
necessity  of  greater  diligence  and  activity.  We  were  soon 
after  apprised  of  her  increasing  infirmities,  and  in  a  private 
letter,  accompanied  by  her  resignation,  we  find  the  following 
words : 

"  I  felt  humbled  in  reading,  and  a  confession  of  my  un- 
worthiness  burned  in  my  heart  and  trembled  on  my  lips ; 
but  the  little  that  I  could  honestly  take  fell  like  precious 
balsam  on  my  spirit,  consoling  and  invigorating.  My  tear 
ful  thanks  to  you,  dear  friend,  and  my  love  and  manifold 
thanks  to  our  dear  associates  who  authorized  you  thus  to 
write.  May  God's  blessing  rest  on  them,  and  God's  mer 
cies,  through  their  instrumentality,  fall  on  many  forsaken 
and  helpless  creatures.11 

To  the  "  Ladies  of  the  Home"  she  sent  the  following : 

To  the  Executive  Committee  of  the  Women's  Prison  Association 
of  New  York. 

Woodbourne,  October  9th,  1863. 

MY  DEAR  FRIENDS, — I  rejoice  in  an  opportunity  of  con 
gratulating  you,  and  the  society  of  whose  charities  we  have 
been  the  medium,  on  the  great  and  unexpected  accession 
to  our  means,  from  the  munificent  bequest  of  Charles  Bur- 
rail,  Esq.  '  Of  the  generous  donor  we  can  say  nothing  but 
that  we  are  profoundly  grateful  to  him.  He  has  passed  be 
yond  our  praise  and  thanks  to  His  presence  who  uttered 
those  words  of  encouragement  and  immeasurable  blessing 


Letter  from  Mrs.  Barnes  S.  Gibbons.  423 

to  the  Benefactor  of  the  Poor — -"  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done 
it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me." 

It  is,  my  friends,  with  a  feeling  blending  pain  and  pleas 
ure  that  I  resign  the  position  among  you  with  which  you 
have  so  long  honored  me  —  pain  at  the  disruption  of  a  tie 
that,  so  far  as  I  know,  has  never  been  jarred  by  a  discord  or 
dissatisfaction,  and  pleasure  that  your  present  affluence  ren 
ders  my  co-operation  of  no  importance  to  you.  And,  more 
over,  much  as  I  may  desire  to  linger  with  you,  the  infirmities 
of  age,  and  my  absence  from  the  city,  take  from  me  even 
the  pretext  for  such  self-indulgence. 

Your  increased  means  enlarge  your  field  of  action,  your 
blessed  opportunities  of  doing  good,  and  your  responsibili 
ties.  May  God  give  you  the  holy  zeal,  the  wisdom,  and  the 
energy  you  need  I  Arcl  may  He  grant  you  that  essential  to 
the  success  of  all  gres,t  and  good  enterprises — the  right  offi 
cers  to  do  the  right  thing  in  the  right  time  and  the  right 
place. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  friends,  respectfully,  gratefully,  and 
affectionately  yours,  C.  M.  SEDGWICK. 

To  this  letter  the  following  reply  was  sent :  • 

Miss  C.  AL  Scdgwick:      ' 

DEAR  FRIEND, — At  a  special  meeting  of  the  Women's 
Prison  Association,  held  at  the  "  Isaac  T.  Hopper  Home," 
October  i3th,  1863,  thy  letter  of  October  Qth,  resigning  thy 
position  as  First  Directress,  was  presented.  The  reading 
made  a  deep  impression  upon  all  present,  and,  after  a  time  of 
silence,  succeeded  by  many  demonstrations  of  loving  kind 
ness  toward  thee,  our  dear  friend  and  counselor,  the  privi  - 
lege  was  given  me  to  answer  thy  communication,  and  to 
assure  thee  that,  while  we  patiently  abide  the  temporary 
separation  from  one  whom  we  have  held  to  be  our  strength  in 
adversity,  with  one  voice  we  call  thee  to  share  in  our  pros- 


424  £*fe  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

perity.  When  our  days  were  darkest,  thy  presence  and  the 
might  of  thy  influence  sustained  us.  We  remember,  with 
feelings  of  gratitude,  thy  tender  sympathy  and  substantial 
aid  ;  and  now  let  the  remembrance  of  thy  goodness,  and  of 
all  thou  hast  been  to  us,  animate  us  to  renewed  exertion  in 
behalf  of  our  dependent  family,  and  guide  us  in  every  act 
of  the  society  of  which  thou  hast  ever  been  the  pride  and 
ornament. 

We  reverently  acknowledge  thee  as  our  head.  Grant  us 
thy  loved  and  honored  name,  and  believe  us,  now  and  in  all 
time,  faithfully  and  affectionately  thy  grateful  friends. 

In  behalf  of  the  committee,  A.  H.  GIDUONS. 

New  York,  October  joth,  1863. 

The  Annual  Report  of  the  Women's  Prison  Association 
and  Isaac  T.  Hopper  Home  for  the  year  1867  concludes 
with  this  notice  : 

"We  can  not  close  this  report  without  some  notice  of  the 
loss  we  have  sustained  this  year  in  the  death  of  our  First 
Directress,  our  dear  friend  and  fellow-laborer,  Miss  Catha 
rine  M.  Sedgwick.  Although  it  is  several  years  since  ab- 
s*cnce  from  the  city  and  increasing  infirmities  have  prevent 
ed  her  from  being  bodily  present  with  us,  we  feel  it  as  a  fresh 
bereavement  to  lose  her  dear  and  honored  name  from  the 
list  of  our  officers.  For  more  than  twenty  years  Miss  Sedg 
wick  was  an  active  member  of  our  society — since  1848  its 
First  Directress — and  when,  in  1863,  she  tendered  her  res 
ignation  of  this  office  to  the  society,  finding  active  participa 
tion  in  its  labor  no  longer  possible  for  her,  it  was  received 
with  an  earnest  and  unanimous  entreaty  that  she  would  still 
suffer  her  name  to  head  the  list  of  our  officers,  which  was 
granted.  And  now  that  death  must  sever  this  last  visible 
link,  we  feel  more  sensibly  how  strong  and  tender  are  the 
bonds  which  no  separation  can  loosen,  and  how  the  memory 


Letter  from  Afrs.  James  S.  Gibbons.  425 

of  her  gentle  presence,  and  loving  counsel,  and  efficient  help 
will  ever  remain  with  us  an  abiding  treasure.  The  touch 
ing  modesty  which  formed  so  striking  a  portion  of  her  char 
acter  made  it  always  impossible  for  her  to  realize  the  value 
of  her  own  work  ;  but  we,  who  can  remember  the  spirit  of 
love  and  tenderness  which  surrounded  her  like  an  atmos 
phere,  know  that  it  fell  like  balsam  on  thousands  of  wound 
ed  and  weary  hearts,  encouraging  the  hopeless  and  comfort 
ing  the  forsaken,  so  that  her  memory  is  a  perpetual  inspira 
tion  and  encouragement  to  us  in  the  labor  which  she  shared 
with  us  during  her  life." 


LETTER  TO  MRS.  WILLIAM  MINOT,  JR. 

FROM   THE   REV.  DR.  DEWEY. 


Mv  DEAR  MRS.  MINOT, — You  have  asked  me  to  give  you 
my  thoughts  of  Miss  Seclgwick,  and  also  such  of  her  letters 
to  me,  or  passages  from  them,  as  were  proper  for  publica 
tion.  I  am  sorry  that  I  can  find  only  extracts  of  this  char 
acter  ;  for  I  think  the  special  interest  of  letters,  as  such, 
consists  in  the  whole  of  them  being  given ;  and  these  let 
ters,  though  very  precious  to  me  and  of  rare  beauty,  are  so 
full  of  the  personality  and  the  personal  relations  of  the 
writer,  that  their  very  charm  forbids  their  appearing  in  print 
I  send  you  such  extracts  from  them  as  I  think  proper  for 
your  purpose,  and  I  wish  I  could  give  you  the  biographical 
sketch  that  you  desire — that  is,  any  thing  satisfactory  to 
myself.  But  I  have  always  felt  it  difficult,  I  hardly  know 
why,  to  portray  the  character  of  my  best  friends  ;  it  refuses 
to  yield  to  analysis — like  music,  which  one  feels  but  can  not 
describe.  But  I  will  do  what  I  can. 

And  with  this  view  I  should  like  to  insert,  if  you  think  it 
proper,  what  I  said  the  Sunday  after  Miss  Sedgwick's  fu 
neral,  in  a  sermon  which  I  delivered  in  Stockbridge. 

My  friends,  I  have  been  led  thus  to  speak  to  you  of  what 
we  are,  and  may  hope  to  be,  by  the  solemn  event  and  sad 
obsequies  of  the  past  week.  I  have  been  drawn  to  do  so, 
invited  by  the  considerate  courtesy  of  your  pastor,  because 


428  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Serfgwick. 

I  could  not  bear  that  this  occasion  should  pass  without 
some  word  spoken  of  that  with  which  my  mind  and  many 
minds  here  are  burdened  and  overburdened.  That  precious 
and  beautiful  life  which  has  lately  come  to  its  end  ought 
not  to  pass  from  us  without  some  grateful  and  admiring 
comment.  I  was  once  in  the  French  Institute,  at  the  fu 
neral  of  a  member,  when  his  fellow-members  rose,  one  after 
another,  and  uttered  their  thoughts  of  him.  I  thought  it  a 
fit  and  excellent  custom  ;  and  if  those  who  shared  in  liter 
ary  labors  and  honors  with  our  friend  had  been  here  with 
us  at  her  funeral,  well  might  they  have  spoken  of  her,  and 
more  justly  and  fully  than  I  can  undertake  now  to  do  ;  but 
they  could  not  with  more  affection  and  admiration. 

But  comment  there  will  be,  not  only  through  public  chan 
nels,  but  in  many  private  words  spoken  in  tones  of  respect, 
affection,  and  tenderness.  Long  will  be  pronounced  among 
us  the  name  of  our  friend  as  few  names  are  pronounced. 
To-day  it  is  uttered  with  tears,  but  in  days  to  come  it  will 
be  uttered  with  reverence  and  thanksgiving. 

And  let  us  be  thankful  now.  Let  not  the  only  homage 
we  pay  to  departed  worth  be  grief  and  mourning.  Let  us 
not  mourn  as  having  no  hope.  We  have  a  hope  that  enters 
within  the  veil.  Were  it  not  so,  this  hour,  this  place,  this  as 
sembly  would  be  covered  with  impenetrable  darkness  and 
gloom.  But  if  we  look  forward  we  believe  that  all  is  bright 
— that  the  light  of  immortality  is  shining  upon  her  path. 
"  The  souls  of  the  righteous,"  says  an  ancient  writing,  "  arc 
in  the  hand  of  God  ;  and  there  shall  no  torment  touch  them. 
In  the  sight  of  the  unwise  they  seem  to  die,  and  their  depart 
ure  is  taken  for  misery,  and  their  going  from  us  to  be  utter 
destruction  \  but  they  are  in  peace."  Peace  I  after  the  toil 
and  weakness  of  life  are  over — peace  !  after  life's  fitful  fever, 
after  pain  and  trouble,  after  weary  days  and  restless  nights 
— it  is  God's  peace,  and  we  believe  it  is  given  to  her. 


Letter  from  the  Jttrzt.  Dr.  JDtwey.  4219 

And  when  we  look  backward  and  commemorate  the  past, 
as  we  should,  hers  has  been  a  favored  life — a  good  and 
happy  life.  We  have  no  need  nor  desire  to  speak  of  her 
life  or  lot  in  terms  of  ordinary  eulogy.  Life  is  no  light 
thing  to  any.  It  is  a  hard  strain  upon  every  soul  that  passes 
through  it.  It  is  hard  to  live  wisely  and  well.  Doubtless 
she  knew  it  and  felt  it  all,  sensitive  and  delicate  as  her  na 
ture  was,  though  singularly  controlled  and  balanced.  Doubt 
less  she  had  her  faults,  though  I  confess  I  could  never  see 
them.  But  there  arc  inward  records  where  are  written  trial, 
temptation,  weakness,  erring,  regret,  repentance  ;  and  the 
greatest  burden  and  sorrow  of  all  the  highest  and  best 
minds,  I  suppose,  is  that  they  live  so  poorly. 

But  hers  was  a  good  and  happy  life.  Trained  from  her 
childhood  in  yonder  mansion,  though  she  early  lost  a  moth 
er's  watch  and  care,  by  a  father  of  singular  dignity  of  char 
acter,  of  equally  strong  sense  and  affection  ;  with  elder  sis 
ters,  most  affectionate  guides  and  companions  ;  with  four 
brothers  such  as  are  rare  to  be  found  in  any  family,  all  de 
voted  to  her ;  with  a  younger  generation  of  relations  grow 
ing  up  around  her,  all  drawn  to  her  as  a  common  centre  of 
attraction  ;  and  a  home  with  one  of  them  in  her  declining 
days,  made  sweet  and  loving  as  any  home  could  be  ;  with  a 
larger  circle  of  constant  and  enthusiastic  admirers  ;  with  a 
still  wider  circle  composed  of  all  reading  persons  among  us, 
whose  hearts  she  touched  with  the  wisdom  of  her  thoughts 
and  the.  grace  of  her  pen — hers  has  been  a  life  to  rejoice 
over,  and  for  which  to  be  thankful  and  glad. 

Her  character  was  moulded,  I  always  thought,  of  all  good 
elements,  with  as  few  discordant  ones,  if  there  were  any,  as 
I  ever  knew  in  any  human  being — sense  and  feeling,  reason 
and  imagination,  seriousness  and  cheerfulness,  yet  you  could 
not  tell  which  of  them  predominated,  so  blended  were  they 
all  in  her  character  ;  and  piety,  deep  and  reverent,  was  hers. 


430  -Life  °f  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick. 

I  touch  upon  the  theme  with  awe.     Who  knows  the  thoughts, 
the  aspirations,  the  prayers  that  are  breathed  in  such  souls  ? 
Who  knows  what  doubts  and  sorrowings  over  themselves 
are  passing  in  them  ?     But  this  world  was  pleasant  to  her  ; 
and  how  much  she  did  to  make  it  pleasant  to  others  i — did 
it  in  ways  of  philanthropy  and  charity,  but  did  it  yet  more, 
unconsciously.     Ah  !  one  is  tempted  to  hope  that  he  does, 
possibly,  something  in  that  way,  so  little  purposed  and  posi 
tive  good  are  we  sensible  of  doing.      But  certainly  she  did. 
Her  life  was  a  benediction,  and  a  charm,  and  a  blessing 
wherever  she  moved.     Who  that  has  seen  her  here,  in  for 
mer  days,  in  her  home  walks,  does  not  remember  her  very 
step,  so  self-poised,  elastic,  and  free  ;  her  manner  and  bear 
ing,  so  kindly  and  cheering,  so  full  of  fresh  heart-warmth 
and  inspiration  ;  her  word,  ready  for  every  one,  so  fit  and 
apt  for  every  occasion  of  greeting  or  sympathy  ;  the  neigh 
borly  love  in  which  she  lived  with  her  people  ?     Hers  was  a 
large  humanity,  stirred  by  every  claim  of  sorrow  or  wrong, 
and  yet  a  penetrating  insight  and  tenderness  that  never  mis 
took  or  missed  the  individual  claim  or  call.     She  had  as 
keen  a  glance  into  the  faults  and  foibles  of  society  as  any 
one  had,  but  her  judgment  always  leaned  to  forbearance  and 
charity.      I  might  proceed,  but  who  shall  tell  all  the  charm 
of  her  intercourse  with  her  kindred  and  friends  ? 

And  all  this  character  was  expressed  in  her  writings.  She 
was  not  one  whose  private  life  was  one  thing,  and  whose 
authorship  another — whose  pen  drew  pictures  of  virtue  and 
goodness  that  were  all  imaginings  and  dreams,  and  not  re 
alities.  Her  sweet  and  graceful  nature  welled  up  and  flowed 
out  in  clear  streams,  that  told  of  the  fountain  from  which 
they  came.  Her  style  was  one  of  remarkable  clearness, 
simplicity,  and  beauty.  She  never  wrote  a  letter,  even  the 
shortest,  without  some  felicitous  turns  of  expression,  which 
seemed  as  natural  to  her  as  to  breathe.  She  has  written 


Letter  from  the  Rev.  Dr.  Dewcy.  43 1 

works  which  hold  an  honored  place  in  our  literature  ;  and 
her  smaller  and  simpler  tales,  which  occupied  her  pen  most 
ly  in  the  latter  part  of  her  literary  career,  are  to-day  running 
their  rounds,  bearing  gracious  wisdom  and  loving  counsels 
to  the  homes  of  our  people. 

Her  closing  years,  though  with  some  painful  and  some 
halting  steps,  were  a  fit  and  beautiful  ending  to  such  a  life. 
It  seemed  as  if  her  setting  sun  suffused  her  spirit  and  all 
things  around  her  with  a  golden  radiance.  Never  did  she 
seem  so  touched  with  the  sense  of  all  things  beautiful. 
Never  did  the  books  she  read  appear  so  excellent,  never 
her  friends  so  admirable,  never  the  scenes  of  nature  so 
lovely.  She  saw  God  in  all  things  ;  for  nothing  hath  its 
true  beauty  without  that  vision.  She  leaned  upon  an  al 
mighty  arm,  humble,  indeed,  and  trembling,  but  held  up  by 
the  great  Christian  reliance  upon  the  Infinite  mercy.  And 
when  at  last  a  deep  slumber  fell  upon  her,  and  so  she  passed 
away,  that  seems  to  me  a  friendly  veil,  cast  by  the  All-loving 
care  over  the  tremblings  and  sorrows  of  parting.  And  when, 
for  hours  after,  her  features  took  on  the  form  of  the  loveli 
est  repose,  and  resumed  all  the  beauty  of  earlier  clays,  that 
seems  to  me  an  emblem  of  the  soul's  deep  repose. 

In  speaking  of  Catharine  Sedgwick,  I  would  not  use  one 
word  that  was  conventional  or  customary,  yet  neither  would 
I  restrain  the  natural  language  of  friendship.  Homage  to 
whom  homage  is  due,  for  it  is  well  and  dearly  earned  ;  and 
it  is,  indeed,  a  notable  thing  to  me,  when  I  hear  so  much 
about  this  bad  world,  to  sec,  rising  amidst  the  general  dark 
ness — rising  every  where,  this*  halo  of  admiration  to  the  gift 
ed  and  good.  They  are  stars  in  this  earthly  sky  ;  and  when 
men  say  "  all  is  shadow  and  night  in  this  world/1  it  is  meet 
that  these  stars  should  be  seen  and  signalized  ;  and  not 
remarkable  persons — not  authors  nor  artists  alone,  are  such, 


432  Life  of  Catharine  M.  Scdgwick. 

but  many  another — many,  indeed,  from  whose  lives  authors 
and  artists  obtain  their  best  ideals. 

Catharine  Sedgwick  was  an  author  of  no  mean  fame,  and 
yet  she  was  an  original  fine  enough  to  draw  from  ;  but  she 
never  seemed  to  know  that 'she  was  an  author  unless  it  was 
forced  upon  her  attention.     The  freedom,  the  ease,  the  sim 
plicity,  the  abandon  of  her  manners,  never  betrayed,  in  any 
form,  the  slightest  consciousness  of  success.     Abandon,  I 
say ;  and  yet  there  was  never  any  thing  that  touched  the 
dignity  and  delicacy  of  her  deportment.     A  certain  freedom 
of  genius  there  was  in  her  mind  and  way — a  strain  of  senti 
ment  in  her  conversation,  that  was  not  amenable  to  ordi 
nary  conventionalism  ;  but  her  good  sense  always  came  out, 
clear  and  fair,  upon  every  question.     Her  opinions  were 
her  own,  but  not  eccentric  nor  singular ;  formed  by  herself, 
but  not  for  herself — -for  the  sake  of  justice  and  the  reason 
of  things  rather.     Her  judgment  was  her  own,  and  not  an 
other's — not  a  reverberation  of  the  common  talk.    The  min 
gled  frankness  and  fearlessness  of  her  bearing  told  you  that. 
Fearlessness,  I  repeat ;  and  yet — for  qualifications  must 
come  in,  like  many-colored  threads  in  a  woven  fabric — yet 
there  was  a  constitutional  timidity  in  her  nature.    But  for  a 
certain  force,  and  even  passion,  in  her  whole  constitution, 
physical  and  mental,  it  would  have  been  weakness.     As  it 
was,  a  blending  of  opposite  qualities  made  a  singular  beau 
ty.    There  was  a  turn  of  the  eye,  I  often  thought,  like  a  wild 
animal's,  if  I  may  venture  upon  the  phrase,  expressive  nei 
ther  of  timidity  nor  fearlessness,  but  something  finer  than 
either,  and  typical  of  what  we  call  a  natural  grace.     There 
was  something  of  a  Southern  flexibility  in  her  temperament 
and  manners,  a  free  swaying  in  her  motions,  and  the  very 
expressions  of  her  countenance   to  the  mood  within,  not 
often  seen  in  a  New  England  woman.     Her  gait  in  walking 
showed  this.     No  one  could  see  her  in  the  streets  of  her 


Letter  from  the  JRev.  £)r.  JDewey.  433 

native  village  without  being  struck  with  it — an  unconven 
tional  freedom,  a  bearing  independent  of  all  constraint,  and 
yet  so  generous  and  kind-hearted  to  all  around  her,  as  made 
one  happier  after  meeting  with  her. 

I  am  tempted  to  put  into  this  too  meager  record  a  few 
words  that  I  have  received  from  the  hand  of  another : 

"  Dearly  as  I  loved  Miss  Sedgwick,  I  never  had  such  inti 
mate  personal  relations  with  her  as  would  enable  me  to  make 
a  complete  analysis  of  her  character,  while  I  stood  too  near 
her  in  affection  and  reverence  to  make  it  easy  to  draw  a 
mere  sketch.  What  I  most  loved  in  her,  I  think,  was  the 
exquisite,  unfailing,  abounding  sympathy  which  was  always 
ready  for  the  need  of  great  and  small,  and  which,  like  the 
fairy  tent  of  Prince  Ahmed,  could  include  a  nation,  or  shel 
ter  one  poor  trembling  head.  And  it  was  not  a  sympathy 
only  with  suffering,  but  a  true  taking  into  her  generous  heart 
all  the  feelings  of  people  far  less  gifted  than  herself — their 
little  joys,  their  half-formed  desires,  their  crude  aspirations  ; 
every  thing  in  them  that  was  true  and  natural  found  a  re 
sponse  in  her,  while  her  quick  wit  and  delicate  perceptions 
made  her  easily  see  through  any  thing  like  affectation  or 
pretension.  And  I  think  I  admired  most  her  perfect  wom 
anliness,  which,  adorned  with  beautiful  refinement  of  man 
ner,  infused  into  every  thing  she  said  and  did  a  peculiar 
feminine  charm,  gave  an  exquisite  grace  to  the  activity  of 
her  intellect,  and  pervaded  the  rich  cultivation  of  her  mind 
with  a  subtle  sense  of  fitness  and  beauty. 

" Her  writings  seem  to  me,  in  a  remarkable  degree,  a  reflex 
of  her  nature.  Her  books  arc  not  like  reservoirs,  into  which 
thought  is  laboriously  and  painfully  pumped  up,  or  brought 
by  elaborately -constructed  conduits  from  afar,  but  rather 
like  mountain  lakes,  which  gather  their  sweet  waters  from 
the  natural  slopes  around  them,  and  reflect,  in  their  lovely 
mirrors,  the  sources  from  which  they  are  drawn.  Her  cx- 

T 


434  Life  °f  Catharine  M.  Sedgivick. 

cellent  sense,  her  genial  feeling,  her  high-bred  case  and 
grace,  delicate  sarcasm,  and  pure  and  tender  tone  of  senti 
ment,  are  felt  in  each,  and  felt  as  a  personal  charm.  I  re 
member  particularly  the  letters  scattered  through  her  nov 
els  for  their  fine  ease  of  expression,  and  careless,  graceful 
wealth  of  allusion  and  fancy.  Some  of  those  in  *  Redwood' 
and  *  The  Linwoods*  are  especially  admirable." 

I  have  spoken  already  of  Miss  Seclgwick's  family  and  her 
position  in  it.  It  was  her  great  happiness  to  find  it,  from 
youth  to  age,  the  home  of  all  protecting  and  cherishing  af 
fections.  She  had  two  sisters,  one  of  whom  only  I  knew — 
Mrs.  Watson — and  knew  only  to  admire  the  elevated  tone  of 
all  her  thoughts  and  aims,  the  fervor  of  her  sensibility,  both 
religious  and  social,  and  her  fine  enthusiasm,  almost  con 
flicting  with  her  natural  good  sense. 

The  four  brothers  of  Miss  Sedgwick  were  educated  for 
the  law:  they  naturally  followed  the  profession  in  which 
their  father,  Judge  Sedgwick,  had  been  eminent,  yet  no  one 
of  them  followed  him  in  the  political  career  in  which  he  had 
been  equally  distinguished.  The  eldest,  Theodore,  prac 
ticed  law  in  Albany  ;  Harry  and  Robert,  in  New  York  ; 
Charles,  the  youngest,  at  home.  But  he  forsook  the  prac 
tice,  which  did  not  suit  the  sweetness  and  delicacy  of  one 
of  the  loveliest  natures  it  was  ever  my  fortune  to  be  ac 
quainted  with.  His  name  is  fragrant  in  the  memory  of  all 
who  knew  him.  When  he  died,  the  Irish  laborers  who  lived 
in  his  neighborhood  nsked  leave,  and  were  permitted,  to 
bear  his  remains  to  the  grave.  His  three  elder  brothers 
were  all  men  of  marked  ability  and  equal  integrity.  Harry 
died  earliest.  The  intellectual  stamp  upon  him  was  per 
haps  strongest  among  the  brothers — a  man  with  a  singular 
mixture  of  enthusiasm  and  penetration.  He  occupied  the 
place  of  counselor  in  the  office  in  New  York,  while  Robert 
took  charge  of  the  active  business  of  the  firm,  and  had  the 


Letter  from  the  Rev.  Dr.  Dcwey.  435 

confidence  of  those  around  him  for  sound  judgment  and 
high-toned  principle.  Theodore  died  of  apoplexy.  For 
some  years  he  had  looked  to  this  as  the  end,  and  spoke  of 
it  so  cheerfully  that  a  friend  one  day  by  his  side  expressed 
surprise  at  it.  "  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  why  not  ?  It  is  the  touch 
Ithuriel."  All  the  brothers  married  women  of  marked  sense 
and  culture.  Two  of  them,  Mrs.  Theodore  and  Mrs.  Charles, 
were  known  by  excellent  writings  ;  but  the  stately  grace 
and  sweetness  of  the  one,  and  the  practical  intelligence  and 
the  full  heart-life  of  the  other,  were  finer  than  any  books. 
Mrs.  Robert  many  must  remember  for  her  beauty,  and  a 
cast  of  character  in  correspondence  with  it \  for  both  were 
singularly  high  and  high-bred,  and  rather  exacting — not  of 
homage,  but  of  sincerity  and  sense  from  those  around  her. 
And  Mrs.  Harry — who  can  ever  forgei  her  womanly  dignity, 
her  strong  sense, her  larrc  heart,  and  the  Hashing  eyes? 

And  when  all  were  assembled  in  Stockbridge,  as  they 
often  were  in  summer  days — and  often  with  distinguished 
visitors  from  home  and  abroad — it  would  be  difficult  to  find 
a  family  circle  in  which  there  was  more  good  sense  and 
good  culture,  more  case  and  freedom,  or  more  gayety  and 
affection.  Catharine  was,  perhaps,  the  central  figure  of  the 
group,  at  least  to  strangers  ;  but  >t  was  a  circle  in  which 
every  one  had  attractions,  and  it  was  emphatically  a  family 
of  love.  The  only  contention  about  her,  or  with  her,  was 
who  of  them  should  have  the  most  of  her  society  in  their 
homes.  Hers  was  a  position  which,  with  its  many  and  ten 
der  claims  upon  her,  and  her  many  philanthropic  offices, 
and  her  large  correspondence  at  home  and  abroad,  added 
to  her  great  literary  labors,  involved  her  in  a  life  of  cares. 
She  once  wrote  to  us,  "  My  normal  condition  is  one  of  fa 
tigue.'*  She  is  at  rest.  The  busy  day's  life  is  over ;  and 
these  families  have  passed  like  shadows  over  the  earth. 
Peace  to  her  memory !  blessings  so  long  as  her  memory 
shall  endure  1 


REMINISCENCES  OF  MISS  SEDGWICK. 

IIY   WILLIAM    CULLEN    IWYANT,    ESQ. 


AT  the  desire  of  the  friends  of  the  late  Catharine  Maria 
Sedgwick,  I  have  put  together  some  notices  of  her  early  lit 
erary  life,  as  it  came  under  my  observation,  regretting  that 
I  am  not  able  to  speak  of  it  more  at  large. 

I  became  acquainted  with  Miss  Sedgwick  some  time  after 
the  year  1816,  precisely  in  what  year  I  can  not  state.  I  had 
attempted  the  practice  of  law  in  a  neighborhood  where  there 
was  little  employment  for  one  of  my  profession,  and,  after  a 
twelvemonth's  trial,  I  transferred  my  icsidcnce  to  Great 
Harrington,  near  the  birthplace  and  summer  residence  of 
Miss  Sedgwick,  in  the  pleasant  county  of  Berkshire.  It 
was  on  the  third  of  October,  in  the  year  I  have  mentioned, 
that  I  made  the  journey  thither  from  Cummington.  The 
woods  were  in  all  the  glory  of  autumn,  and  I  well  remember, 
as  I  passed  through  Stockbridge,  how  much  I  was  struck 
by  the  beauty  of  the  smooth,  green  meadows,  on  the  banks 
of  that  lovely  river,  which  winds  near  the  Sedgwick  family 
mansion,  the  Housatonic,  and  whose  gently-flowing  waters 
seemed  tinged  with  the  gold  and  crimson  of  the  trees  that 
overhung  them.  I  admired  no  less  the  contrast  between 
this  soft  scene  and  the  steep,  craggy  hills  that  overlooked 
it,  clothed  with  their  many-colored  forests.  I  had  never  be 
fore  seen  the  southern  part  of  Berkshire,  and  congratulated 
myself  on  becoming  an  inhabitant  of  so  picturesque  a  region. 


438  £{fe  of  Catharine  M.  Stdgwick. 

At  that  time  I  had  no  acquaintance  with  the  Seclgwick 
family  ;  but  the  youngest  of  them,  Charles  Seclgwick,  a  man 
of  most  genial  and  engaging  manners  and  agreeable  con 
versation,  as  well  as  of  great  benevolence  and  worth,  was  a 
member  of  the  Berkshire  bar,  and  by  him,  two  or  three  years 
afterward,  I  was  introduced  to  the  others,  who,  from  the 
first,  seemed  to  take  a  pleasure  in  being  kind  to  me.  I  re 
member  very  well  the  appearance  of  Miss  Seclgwick  at  that 
period  of  her  life.  She  was  well  formed,  slightly  inclining 
to  plumpness,  with  regular  features^  eyes  beaming  with  be 
nevolence,  a  pleasing  smile,  a  soft  voice,  and  gentle  and 
captivating  manners.  The  portrait  of  her  by  Ingham, 
painted  about  that  time,  or  a  little  later,  although  not  re 
garded,  I  think,  by  the  family  as  a  perfect  likeness,  yet  brings 
to  my  mind  her  image  as  I  saw  her  then,  with  that  mingled 
expression  of  thoughtfulncss  and  benignity  with  which  her 
features  were  informed. 

It  was  shortly  after  I  became  acquainted  with  her  that, 
at  her  request,  I  wrote  several  hymns  for  a  collection  which 
one  of  her  friends  in  New  York  was  making.  Two  of  these 
are  included  in  the  collection  of  my  poems,  one  beginning 
with  the  line 

"  Deem  not  thai  they  nrc  blest  alone," 

and  the  other  with  the  line 

••  Whoa  ho  who  from  the  scourge  of  wrong." 

They  were  kindly  received,  and  I  was  encouraged  by  her  in 
my  hopes  of  literary  success.  This  was  in  the  year  1820. 
At  that  time  Miss  Seclgwick  had  not  appeared  as  an  author, 
but  her  habits  were  understood  to  be  literary,  and  in  1822 
her  "  New  England  Tale"  was  published  by  Bliss  £  White, 
of  New  York,  with  a  Preface  written  in  March  of  that  year. 
I  have  a  copy  of  the  first  edition  of  that  work,  the  pages 
much  thumbed,  worn,  and  soiled,  and  with  loose  leaves, 


Reminiscences  of  Miss  Sedgwick.  439 

ready  to  drop  out  when  the  book  is  opened,  attesting  the 
number  of  times  it  has  been  borrowed,  and  the  great  num 
ber  of  times  it  has  been  read.  The  New  England  Tale  be 
came  popular  immediately  ;  every  body  was  eager  to  see  it, 
and  it  passed  into  the  hands  of  thousands  who  were  by  no 
means  habitual  readers  of  novels,  and  who  found  themselves 
none  the  worse  for  having  read  it.  It  was  the  first  time 
that  the  beautiful  valleys  of  our  county  had  been  made  the 
scene  of  the  well-devised  adventures  of  imaginary  person 
ages,  and  we  all  felt  that,  by  being  invested  with  new  asso 
ciations,  they  had  gained  a  new  interest.  In  the  Preface 
to  the  work  Miss  Scdgwick  had  thought  it  necessary  to  say 
that  "  no  personal  allusions,  however  remote,  were  intended 
to  be  made  to  any  individual,"  with  the  exception  of  the 
real  personage  whom  she  had  introduced  under  tlv.  name 
of  Crazy  Bet.  The  experience  of  Mrs.  Kirklancl,  after  the 
publication  of  her  sprightly  and  amusing  sketches  of  west 
ern  life,  entitled  "A  New  Home  :  Who'll  Follow?"  has  since 
shown  that  this  precaution  was  a  prudent  one.  Mrs.  Kirk- 
land  of  course  made  her  personal  observation  the  basis  of 
her  sketches  of  life  in  the  new  settlements  of  Michigan,  and, 
from  the  moment  the  work  appeared,  her  neighbors  in  that 
region  began  so  zealously  and  with  such  universal  consent 
to  appropriate  to  themselves  the  characters  described  in  it, 
and  were  so  little  pleased  with  them,  although  they  were  not 
drawn  with  an  unkindly  hand,  that  the  author  soon  became 
very  willing  to  exchange  her  Western  residence  for  one  in 
New  York,  her  native  city.  With  regard  to  Crazy  Bet,  the 
sketch  from  real  life  which  Miss  Sedgwick,  in  the  New  En 
gland  Talc,  had  wrought  up  with  a  fine  poetic  effect,  I  re 
member  an  incident  to  which  I  was  witness  while  I  lived  in 
Great  Barrington,  and  which  I  have  always,  whether  rightly 
or  not,  associated  with  Crazy  Bet.  The  village,  unlike  what 
it  now  is,  was  then  a  quiet  little  place — two  rows  of  scattered 


440  -Lift  of  Catharine  M. 

dwellings  under  the  shadow  of  the  great  elms  which  almost 
met  over  the  road.  An  abundant  shower  had  fallen  on  a 
warm  summer  day  ;  the  clouds  suddenly  dispersed  ;  the  sun 
broke  forth  in  a  flood  of  amber  light ;  the  birds  resumed 
their  song ;  the  air  was  cooled  and  the  verdure  brightened, 
when  suddenly  I  heard  a  loud,  clear,  and  not  unmelodious 
female  voice  singing,  and  saw  a  middle-aged  woman  march 
ing  along  the  street,  in  which  was  no  other  passenger.  The 
notes  were  joyous  and  exultant,  and  seemed  like  an  hosanna 
called  forth  by  that  glorious  return  of  sunshine. 

In  1824  appeared  Miss  Sedgwick's  second  work,  Red 
wood,  which  by  some  is  regarded  as  her  best.  I  ventured 
to  make  it  the  subject  of  a  somewhat  elaborate  criticism  in 
the  North  American  Review  of  April,  1825.  This  was  my 
most  ambitious  attempt  in  prose  up  to  that  time.  I  took  it 
up  the  other  day  with  some  misgivings,  not  having  looked 
at  it  for  many  years,  and  was  a  little  amused  to  see  that  I 
had  dispensed  both  praise  and  blame  with  as  magisterial 
an  air  as  if  I  had  been  the  most  experienced  of  critics. 
Redwood  was  warmly  received  by  the  public,  and  such  was 
its  fame  that  it  was  translated  into  several  languages  of  the 
European  continent.  Its  success  was  fully  deserved,  were 
it  only  for  the  character  of  Debby  Lenox,  the  clear-headed, 
conscientious,  resolute  Yankee  spinster,  a  combination  of 
noble  and  homely  qualities  so  peculiar,  yet  so  probable,  and 
made  so  interesting  by  the  part  she  takes  in  the  plot,  that 
as  we  read  we  always  welcome  her  reappearance,  and  she 
takes  her  place  in  our  memory  with  the  remarkable  person 
ages  we  have  met  with  in  real  life. 

In  1825,  by  the  advice  of  Miss  Sedgwick's  brother,  Hen 
ry  D.  Sedgwick,  I  came  to  live  in  New  York — a  fortunate 
transplantation  for  me,  for  which  I  owe  the  Sedgwick  family 
many  thanks.  I  was  kindly  received  by  them  all,  and  my 
interests  were  promoted  by  them  as  far  as  was  in  their  pow- 


of  Miss  Scdgwick.  441 

er.  I  now  saw  more  of  Miss  Sedgwick  than  I  had  previ 
ously  done.  The  houses  of  her  two  brothers — the  one  whom 
I  have  already  mentioned,  and  Robert  Sedgwick — both  men 
of  high  standing  at  the  bar,  were  ihe  resort  of  the  best  com 
pany  in  New  York,  cultivated  men  and  women,  literati,  art 
ists,  and,  occasionally,  foreigners  of  distinction.  Here  I 
often  found  Verplanck,  who  had  shortly  before  published  his 
work  on  the  Evidences  of  the  Christian  Religion,  and  was 
then  occupied  in  getting  through  the  press  his  able  Essay 
on  the  Doctrine  of  Contracts.  Here  I  met  the  novelist,  J. 
Fenimore  Cooper,  who,  however,  soon  after  had  a  difference 
with  Robert  Sedgwick,  which  put  an  end  to  his  intimacy 
with  the  family.  At  these  houses  I  met  Robert  C.  Sands, 
the  wit  and  poet,  whose  Yamoyden,  written  by  him  in  con 
junction  with  James  Wallis  Eastburn,  had  just  before  ap 
peared  ;  and  Hillhouse,  author  of  Percy's  Masque,  and  the 
finer  drama  of  Hadad,  which  he  was  then  writing.  Halleck, 
then  in  the  height  of  his  poetical  reputation,  was  among  the 
visitors,  abd  Anthony  Bleeker,  who  read  every  thing  that 
came  out,  and  sometimes  wrote  for  the  magazines,  an  amus 
ing  companion,  always  ready  with  his  puns,  of  whom  Miss 
Eliza  Fenno,  before  her  marriage  to  Verplanck  in  1811, 
wrote  that  she  had  gone  into  the  country  to  take  refuge  from 
Anthony  Bleeker's  puns.  Here  was  frequently  seen  Morse, 
then  an  artist,  unconscious  of  the  renown  which  was  yet  to 
crown  him  as  the  author  of  the  most  wonderful  invention 
of  the  age  ;  and  Cole,  the  landscape  pa-inter,  then  in  the 
early  promise  of  his  genius.  Here,  too,  the  clear,  magnetic 
voice  of  Mrs.  Nicholas  was  sometimes  heard  reciting  Hal- 
leek's  Marco  Bozzaris,  or  one  of  Lockhart's  ballads  from 
the  Spanish,  to  a  spell-bound  and  breathless  audience. 

Henry  D.  Sedgwick  was  a  philanthropist  and  reformer, 
without  the  faults  which  too  often  make  that  class  of  per 
sons  disagreeable.  He  was  foremost  in  all  worthy  enter- 

T  2 


442  Life  of  Catharine  M,  Sedgwick. 

prises,  but  did  not  fatigue  people  with  them.  He  took  a 
deep  interest  in  the  project  of  reducing  our  statutes  to  a  reg 
ular  and  intelligible  code,  and  wrote  an  able  pamphlet  in  its 
favor.  I  remember  vividly  the  personal  interest  he  took  in 
one  of  the  authors  of  that  code- -Benjamin  F.  Butler,  then 
of  Albany,  and  afterward,  under  the  administration  of  Jack 
son,  Attorney  General  of  the  United  States — how  much  he 
was  impressed  with  the  purity  of  his  character  and  the  sin 
gleness  of  his  mind,  and  how  much  we  all  admired  him,  on 
a  visit  which  he  made  to  New  York,  then  a  young  man,  with 
finely-chiseled  features,  made  a  little  pale  by  study,  and  ani 
mated  by  an  expression  both  of  the  greatest  intelligence  and 
ingenuousness.  Mr.  Sedgwick  was  warmly  in  favor  of  that 
change  which  has  since  been  made  in  our  laws — giving  the 
wife  the  absolute  disposal  of  her  own  property — the  advan 
tages  of  which  he  was  fond  of  illustrating  by  the  marital  law 
of  Louisiana.  He  was  a  zealous  friend  of  universal  free 
dom,  and  allowed  no  escaped  slave  from  the  South  to  be 
sent  back  if  he  could  prevent  it.  I  remember  going  with 
him  on  board  a  vessel  just  arrived  from  a  Southern  port,  ly 
ing  at  a  wharf  in  New  York,  in  which  it  was  said  that  a  col 
ored  man  was  detained  in  order  to  bo  sent  back  into  slavery. 
We  found  no  indications  of  the  presence  of -any  such  per 
son,  but  if  we  had,  he  would  have  been  immediately  liber 
ated  by  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus. 

Meantime  Miss  Sedgwick  was  engaged  in  a  work  of  some 
what  humbler  aim  than  Redwood*  and  in  1825  u'as  publish 
ed  The  Travelers,  a  work  professing  to  give  the  narrative  of 
a  journey  made  by  two  very  young  persons,  a  brother  and 
sister,  with  their  parents,  to  Niagara  and  the  great  chain  of 
our  northern  lakes.  On  their  way  these  travelers  meet  every 
where  some  incident  or  some  sight,  which  is  made  the  source 
of  entertainment  and  instruction.  This  was  the  first  of  Miss 
Sedgwick's  books  intended  for  young  persons  ;  the  public 


Reminiscences  of  Miss  Sectgivick,  443 

gave  it  a  ready  welcome,  and  its  success,  I  suppose,  encour 
aged  her  in  after  years  to  write  the  scries  of  works  intended 
for  young  readers  which  became  so  deservedly  popular.  I 
was  at  that  time  one  of  the  editors  of  a  short-lived  monthly 
periodical — the  New  York  Review — in  which  I  noticed  the 
work,  and  gave  one  of  the  charming  little  narratives  with 
which  it  is>  interspersed. 

In  1827  appeared  Hope  Leslie,  in  which  Miss  Sedgwick 
gave  a  picture  of  domestic  life  among  the  early  settlers  of 
New  England.  Very  distinct  traces  of  that  life,  and  of  the 
peculiar  ideas  andc  haracter  of  the  original  Puritan  colonists, 
were  then  to  be  observed  in  many  New  England  neighbor 
hoods,  though  they  have  since,  in  this  age  of  rapid  changes, 
almost  disappeared.  With  the  aid  of  these,  and  the  early 
literature  of  our  colonies,  Miss  Sedgwick  accomplished  her 
task,  as  a  skillful  limner,  by  the  help  of  a  mask  taken  from 
the  face  of  the  dead  and  hints  given  by  surviving  friends, 
produces  what  is  admitted  to  be  a  characteristic  likeness  of 
one  who  is  no  more.  The  old  Puritan  spirit,  tempered 
somewhat  by  the  gentler  medium  through  which  it  has  pass 
ed,  informs  every  page  of  the  book.  It  was  now  commonly 
remarked  that  Miss  Sedgwick's  literary  reputation  was  en 
tirely  of  home -growth,  and  that  her  works  were  admired, 
and  added  to  our  household  libraries  without  asking,  as  had 
too  often  been  the  case  in  regard  to  other  American  authors, 
permission  from  the  critics  of  Great  Britain.  Hope  Leslie 
passed  through  several  editions,  and  was,  I  think,  more 
widely  read  than  any  of  Miss  Sedgwick's  previous  works. 

Three  years  afterward,  her  fourth  novel,  Clarence  :  a 
Tale  of  our  own  Times,  was  published  in  Philadelphia  in 
two  volumes,  and  soon  nfter  it  was  brought  out  in  London 
in  three.  I  think  this  has  been  the  least  read  of  any  of  her 
larger  works. 

A  little  later  the  Brothers  Harper  conceived  the  idea  of 


444  £*fe  °f  Catharine  M.  Setigwick. 


publishing  a  collection  of  tales  by  several  well-known  au 
thors,  and  applied  to  Miss  Sedgwick  to  become  one  of  the 
contributors.  She  complied,  and  two  volumes  were  pub 
lished  in  1832,  to  which  Robert  C.  Sands  furnished  an 
amusing  introduction,  and  gave  the  collection  the  odd  and 
not  very  well-sounding  title  of  Tales  of  the  Glauber  Spa. 
The  contribution  of  Miss  Sedgwick  was  a  tale  of  the  times 
of  Charlemagne,  entitled  Le  Bossu,  in  which  she  skillfully 
availed  herself  of  the  elements  of  the  picturesque  to  be  found 
in  the  customs  of  that  warlike  age,  and  the  semi-barbarous 
magnificence  of  the  court  of  that  mighty  monarch.  The 
other  tales  in  the  collection  were  .written  by  Sands,  James 
K.  Paulding,  William  Leggett,  and  myself. 

In  1834  I  went  abroad,  and  remained  for  about  two  years, 
during  which  I  could  only  observe  Miss  Sedgwick's  literary 
career  from  a  distance.  During  my  absence,  in  1835,  she 
published  The  Linwoods,  or  Sixty  Years  Since  in  America, 
a  charming  tale  of  home  life,  with  the  incidents  of  which  are 
in  part  interwoven  those  of  our  revolutionary  history.  This 
is  thought  by  many  to  be  the  best  of  her  novels  properly  so 
called,  as  it  was  the  last.*  There  was  no  lack  of  warmth  in 
the  welcome  which  the  public  gave  it  ;  edition  after  edition 
was  called  for,  and  the  author  had  every  assurance  that  oth 
er  works  of  the  same  kind  from  her  hand  would  meet  with 
equal  favor,  yet  she  adventured  no  farther  in  this  work. 
Whether  it  was  that  she  feared  that  it  might  not  be  in  her 
power  to  excel  what  she  had  already  written  in  this  way,  or, 
as  is  more  probable,  that  she  determined  to  devote  her  tal 
ents  to  purposes  which  more  directly  regarded  the  good  of 

*  This  is  a  mistake,  but,  aa  it  has  been  put  in  type,  I  prefer  to  correct 
it  in  a  note.  In  1857,  twenty-two  years  after  the  appearance  of  the  Lin- 
woods,  Miss  Sedgwick  gave  the  reading  world  another  novel,  entitled 
Married  or  Single,  which  by  some  is  preferred  to  any  of  her  previous 
ones.  —  Not*  fy>  IV.  C.  Bryant. 


Reminiscences  of  Miss  Sedgivick.  445 

society,  from  that  time  she  composed  only  works  of  a  less 
ambitious  and  elaborate  character ;  all  of  them  designed  to 
illustrate  some  Ir.json  in  human  life,  to  enforce  some  duty, 
or  warn  from  some  error  of  conduct,  and  all  most  happily 
adapted  to  this  purpose.  I  recollect  a  singular  attestation 
to  the  power  of  these  writings  over  the  feelings  of  the  read 
er.  Mr.  Wesley  Harper,  one  of  the  brothers  who  establish 
ed  the  great  publishing  house  which  bears  their  name,  and 
which  published  several  of  these  minor  works  of  Miss  Sedg- 
wick,  was  in  the  practice  of  revising  the  proof-sheets  before 
they  were  sent  to  the  press.  In  performing  that  office,  he 
once  remarked  to  me  that  he  was  fairly  carried  away  by  his 
emotions,  and  could  not  restrain  himself  from  weeping  pro 
fusely.  I  can  assure  the  reader  that  it  is  no  easy  feat  to 
draw  tears  from  the  eyes  of  a  veteran  proof-reader. 

About  the  year  1840  Miss  Sedgwick  visited  Europe.  A 
pleasant  series  of  letters  relating  to  this  visit,  addressed  to 
her  kinsfolk  at  home,  appeared  in  1841.  I  remember  an 
anecdote  related  by  her  of  her  sojourn  in  England,  which 
does  not  appear  in  her  book.  A  lady  asked  her, "  Have  you 
any  large  old  trees  in  America?"  And  then,  checking  her 
self  before  she  could  be  answered,  she  said,  "  Oh,  I  beg  your 
pardon  ;  your  country  has  not  been  settled  long  enough  for 
that  I"  I  have  since  heard  this  anecdote  matched  by  anoth 
er,  which  is  anonymous,  and  I  fear  not  so  authentic,  of  a 
lady  in  England  who  wrote  to  her  friend  in  Massachusetts 
that  a  fair  was  to  be  held  in  her  neighborhood  for  some 
charitable  purpose,  to  which  she  would  be  glad  to  send 
something  curious  from  America,  and  that  if,  in  some  of  his 
drives  or  rambles,  he  could,  without  much  trouble,  get  for 
her  a  vial  of  water  from  the  cataract  of  Niagara,  and  chop 
off  a  small  piece  of  the  Natural  Bridge,  and  bring  home  for 
her  some  little  matter  from  the  Mammoth  Cave,  she  would 
be  infinitely  obliged. 


446  -Life  of  Catharine  AT. 

After  this  time  I  saw  comparatively  little  of  Miss  Sedg- 
wick.     Both  the  brothers  who  resided  in  New  York  were 
dead  ;   her  time  was  divided  between  her  friends   in   the 
neighborhood  of  Boston  and  those  in  her  native  Berkshire, 
and  I  was  obliged  to  content  myself  with  reading  her  works 
as  they  came  from  the  press.     One  of  these,  which  gave  me 
particular  pleasure,  was  her  Life  of  Joseph  Curtis,  of  New 
York,  who  passed  a  long  life  in  works  of  charity  and  mercy, 
in  labors  for  the  relief  of  the  wretched  and  the  instruction 
of  the  ignorant,  and  whose  example  she  has  admirably  held 
up  to  imitation.     I  often  thought  of  her  record  of  this  good 
man's   most  useful,  unostentatious  labors  when    the   Old 
World  and  the  New  vied  with  each  other  in  paying  honors 
to  George  Peabody,  the  opulent  banker,  whose  whole  life 
was  occupied  in  heaping  up  millions  to  be  bestowed  at  last 
in  showy  charities,  whose  funeral  procession  was  a  fleet  fur 
nished  by  two  mighty  empires,  crossing  the  wide  ocean  that 
separate  the  two  great  continents  of  Christendom,  from  a 
harbor  darkened  with  the  ensigns  of  mourning  in  Europe  to 
another  jn  America,  while  the  departure  of  Joseph  Curtis 
called  forth  no  general  manifestation  of  sorrow.      But  the 
memoir  of  Miss  Sedgwick  is  his  monument,  and  it  is  a  noble 
and  worthy  memorial  of  his  virtues  and  services. 

I  am  sorry  that  my  materials  for  that  part  of  Miss  Sedg- 
wick's  literary  life  of  which  I  have  undertaken  to  speak  are 
so  scanty,  and  that  I  can  recollect  no  more  of  it.  Admi 
rable  as  it  was,  her  home  life  was  more  so  ;  and  beautiful  as 
were  the  examples  set  forth  in  her  writings,  her  own  exam 
ple  was,  if  possible,  still  more  beautiful.  Her  unerring  sense 
of  rectitude,  her  love  of  truth,  her  ready  sympathy,  her  active 
and  cheerful  beneficence,  her  winning  and  gracious  manners, 
the  perfection  of  high  breeding,  make  up  a  character,  the 
idea  of  which,  as  it  rests  on  my  mind,  1  would  not  exchange 
for  any  thing  in  her  own  interesting  works  of  fiction. 


Miss  Sedgwick's  Works. 


MUs  Sedgwick  has  marked  individuality ;  »he  \\ritca  with  a  higher 
aim  titan  merely  '.-.  amuac.  Indeed,  (he  rare  endowments  of  her  mind 
depend  in  an  unusual  degree  upon  the  moral  qualities  with  which  they 
.ire  united  fur  their  value.  Animated  by  a  cheerful  philosophy,  and 
anxious  to  pour  its  sunshine  into  every  place  where  there  is  lurking 
care  or  suffering,  she  selects  for  illustration  the  scenes  of  everyday  cx- 
periuncu,  paints  them  with  exact  fidelity,  and  seeks  to  diffuse  over  the 
mind  a  delicious  serenity,  and  in  the  heart  kind  feelings  and  sympathies, 
and  wise  ambition  and  steady  hope.  Her  style  is  colloquial,  picturesque, 
ami  marked  by  a  facile  grace  which  is  evidently  a  gift  of  nature.  Her 
characters  are  nicely  drawn  and  delicately  contrasted  ;  her  delineation 
of  manners  decidedly  the  best  that  has  appeared.— Prose  li'ri/trs  oj" 


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tlna  nnd  Egypt,  nnd  tho  Wulors  of  DamaauiiM.  By  J.  M AUUUKVOU,  M.A. 
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WHYMPER'S  ALASKA.  Travel  and  Adventure  In  tho  Territory  of  Alaska, 
formerly  Riuutinn  America— now  Coded  to  tho  Uniiod  States— and  In  vn- 
rious  other  parts  of  tho  North  Pncttlo.  By  FMUUNUOK  WuvMreu.  With 
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URTON'S  ANDES  AND  TUB  AMAZON.  Tho  Andes  and  tho  Amazon 
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WINOHKLL'S  SKETCHES  OF  CREATION.  Sketches  of  Creation  ;  a  Pop. 
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WHITE'S  MASSACRE  OF  ST.  BARTHOLOMEW.  The  Massacre  of  St, 
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ruat 


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ALFORD'S  GREEK  TESTAMENT.  The  qreek  Testament  i  with  a  critical 
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ABDOTT'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION.  The  French 
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ABBOTT'S  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  The  History  of  Napoleon  Bona 
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Years  of  his  Captivity.  Collected  from  the  Memorials  of  Las  CasaH, 
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bon*,  In  18lff.  [In  addition  to  the  Notes  on  Chapter  LXXVL,  which  cor 


rect  the  errors  of  the  original  work  concerning  the  United  Status,  a 
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tiiiulty.  oiid  their  Probable  Relation  to  n  still  Oldur  civilisation  of  n,o 
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I.V.MAN  BEECIIER'S  AUTOniOGRAPIIV,  £o.  Autobiography.  Corru- 
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UOSWKU/S  JOHNSON.  Tho  I.lfu  of  Samuel  Johnson,  I.L.I).  Including 
n  Journey  to  tho  llubridun.  Ky  JAMKU  DOHWKI.I.,  Etiq.  A  Now  Edition, 
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CARLYLE'S  OLIVER  CROMWELL.     Letters  nnd  Speeches  of  Oliver  Orom- 

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CURTIS'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION.  History  of  Iho  Origin, 
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DAVIS'S  CARTHAGE.  Onrthngo  nnd  hor  Romnlnst  holng  nn  Account  of 
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DOO  LITTLE'S  CHINA.  Social  Life  of  tbo  Chinese  ;  with  some  Account  of 
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GROTE'S  HISTORY  OF  GREECE.     12  vola.,  I2mo,  Clotb,  $18  00. 

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HALL'S  ARCTIC  RESEARCHES.  Arctic  Researches  and  I.IAi  among  tho 
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Franklin,  in  the  Years  1800, 1801,  and  1808.  By  CIIAUI.KS  FHANOIS  HAM- 
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HALLAM'S  MIDDLE  AGES.  State  of  Europo  during  tho  Middle  Ages.  By 
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HILDRETH'S  HISTORY  OK  THE  UNITED  STATES.  FIHBT  SKIUKM  »  From 
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.  —  Vinuir..  —  SAI.I.UHT.  —  HOUAOK.—  •  Ciosno't*  OIIATIONS.  —  OIOKKO'S 
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HELPS'S  SPANISH  CONQUEST.  Tho  Spanish  Conquest  lu  America,  nnd 
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HUMK.  A  new  Kdlllnu,  with  tho  Author'*  luat  Corroctioim  nud  Improve 
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KINGLAK  E'8  CRIMEAN  WAR  Tho  Invasion  of  tho  Crimea,  and  an  Ac 
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KUIOU  WIM.IAM  KaimMAOiiKR,  D.]>.,  Author  of  "  Elijah  tho  Tishblto," 
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LIVINGSTONE'S  SOUTH  AFRICA.  Missionary  Travels  and  Researches 
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Interior  of  Africa,  and  a  Journey  from  tho  Capo  ofGood  Hope  to  Loando 
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on  the  Border.  Comprising  Descriptions  of  tho  Indian  Nomads  of  tho 
Plains  t  Explorations  of  New  Territory  z  a  Trip  across  tho  Rocky  Mount 
ains  In  tho  Winter;  Descriptions  of  tha  Hunlts  of  Different  Animals 
found  in  the  West,  and  tho  Methods  of  Hunting  them  ;  with  Incidents 
In  the  Llfo  of  Different  Frontier  Men,  Ac..  Ac.  By  Brevet  Brlaadler- 
Goneral  R.  B.  MABOV,  U.S.  A.,  Author  of  "  Tho  Prairie  Traveller."  With 
numerous  Illustrations,  tiva,  Cloth,  Beveled  Edges,  $3  00. 


6        ffarper  •&•  Brothers'  Valuable  Standard  Works. 

M'CLINTOCK  Jb  STRONG'S  CYCLOPAEDIA.  Cyclopaedia  of  Biblical,  Tho- 
ological,  and  Ecclesiastical  Literature.  Prepared  by  iho  Hov.  Joiiw 
M'Ci.iMTOi.-K,  U.I),,  and  JAMKaSi'uoNO,  8.T.D.  8  voU.  m»u>  ready.  Royal 
8vo.  Price  per  vol.,  Olotu,  $5  00  ;  Shoop,  *0  00  ;  Half  Morocco,  $3  00. 

MACAULAY'S  HISTOUY  OF  ENGLAND.  Tho  Hlatorv  of  England  from 
the  Accession  of  James  II.  Ity  THOMAS  BAIIINOTON  MAOAIU.AY.  With 
nu  Original  Portrait  of  tho  Author.  6  vols.,  ttvo,  Cloth,  $10  (JO;  12wo, 
Cloth,  $T  50. 

MOSH  KIM'S  KCCLE8IA8T1OAL  HISTORY,  Anctoiitnud  Modern  j  In  which 
ihu  KIBU,  Progress,  nud  Variation  of  Church  Power  nro  considered  in 
their  Connection  with  thu  State  of  Learning  and  Philosophy,  and  tho  Po- 
liiical  History  «>f  Europe  during  that  Period.  Translated,  with  Noton, 
Ac.,  by  A.  MAOI.AINK,  1>.D.  A  now  Edition,  coutiuuud  to  IS'.'O,  by  C. 
COOTK,  LL.p.  '2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $4  00. 

NEVIUS'S  CHINA.  China  and  tho  Chinese  t  n  Gunornl  Description  of  tho 
Country  and  ita  Inhahitauta:  Ua  Civilisation  and  Form  of  tiovorninonti 
ita  Koliuioiia  and  8oclal  IiiHtltntionti  ;  its  Jntorcourvo  with  olhor  Nations  ; 
and  ltd  Protiont  Condition  and  Prooneuta.  Hy  tho  Kov,  JOHN  I*  NKVICH, 
Ton  Yunra  a  Miutfiouary  in  Chiua.  With  a  Man  and  Illuntrations.  liJiuo, 
Cloth.  $1  75. 

GUN'S  (Du.)  LIFE  AND  LETTERS.    2  void.,  12mo,  Cloth,  t»  00. 

OLIN'S  (Diu)  TRAVELS.    TnivolH  in  E^ypt,  Arabia  I'd  nun,  and  Iho  Holy 

Land.     Engraving*,    a  volt*.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $U  00. 
ULIN'S  (Dn.)  WORK,  i.     Tho  Worka  t»f  Stophcn  Olln,  D.I).,  lulu  Piuri!dunt  of 

Iho  Woaloyati  UnivuraUy.     'J  Vitla.,  I'^mo,  Cloth,  $U  IM». 
OLIPIIANT'S  CHINA  AND  JAPAN.    Narrative  of  thu  Eurl  of  Kljjln'a  Ml«- 

alon  to  China  and  Japan,  In  tho  Yoara  1857,  '68,  '&U.    liy  L.MIUKNOK  Or.i- 

riiANT,  1'rivniy  Sucrolary  lo  Lord  Elgin.    Illuatrationa,   8vo,  Cloth,  $8  60. 
OLIPIIANT'S  (Mim.)  LIFE  OF  EDWARD  IRVINO.     Tho  Llfo  of  Edward 

Irving,  Minister  of  tho  Nalidiiat  Scotch  Church,  London.    lllitHtratod  by 

lila  Journal*  and  Correspondence,     By  Mrs.  OUVHAMT,     Portrult.     tivo, 

Cloth,  £8  60. 

PAGE'S  LA  PLATA.     La  Plata  t  the  Arpontlno  Confudoration  and  Para- 
nay.     OoiiiK  a  Narrative  of  tho  Exploration  of  thu  Trlhutarlua  of  iho 

'       ' 


Snay.  oiiK  a  arrave  o  o  xporao  o  u  ruarua  o  o 
Ivor  La  Plain  and  Adjacent  Countries,  during  the  Yonra  1863,  '64,  'WV, 
and  '60,  under  thu  Orders  of  tho  United  States  Government.  New  Kili- 
tlon.  coutainlui;  Farther  Exploratlona  in  La  Plata,  dining  isr.u  and  'Uo. 
I)y  TIIOMAB  J.  PAUK,  U.8.N.,  Commander  of  tho  Expeditious.  With  Map 
and  nmnonnis  IgngrnvingB.  Svo,  Cloth,  $0  00. 

POETS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY.  Tho  Poets  of  Iho  Nineteenth 
Century.-  Selected  and  Edited  by  tho  Hov.  ROIIKIIT  A  urn  WU.I.MOTT. 
With  EnulUU  and  American  Additions,  arranged  by  EVKHT  A.  Duvo- 
KINOK,  Editor  of  ••  Cyclopaedia  of  American  Lllerainro."  Comprising 
Selections  from  tho  Greatest  Authors  of  tho  Ago.  Sunerbly  Illustrated 
with  183  Engravings  from  Designs  by  tho  mo*t  Eminent  Artists.  In 
elegant  small  4to  form,  printed  on  Superfine  Tinted  Paper,  richly  bound 
In  extra  Cloth,  Beveled,  Gilt  Edges,  $0  00  j  HolfCalf,  $0  00;  Full  Turkey 
Morocco,  $10  00. 

PRIME'S  COINS,  MEDALS,  AND  SEALS.  Coins,  Medals,  nud  Seals,  An 
cient  and  Modern.  Illustrated  and  Described.  With  a  Sketch  of  Urn 
History  of  Coins  aim  Coinage,  Instructions  for  Young  Collectors,  Tables 
of  Comparative  Rarity,  Price-Lints  of  English  and  American  Coins.  Med 
als,  and  Tokens,  Ac..  Ac,  Edited  by  W.  C.  PUIMK,  Author  of  ''IJoat 
Life  In  Egypt  and  Nubia,"  "  Tout  Life  iu  tho  Holy  Land,"  Ac.,  &c.  Svo, 
Cloth,  $3  BO. 

SPRING'S  SERMONS.  Pulpit  Ministrations  i  or.  Sabbath  Readings.  A 
Series  of  Discourses  on  Christian  Doctrine  and  Duty.  By  Rev.  GAIUUNKH 
H  I>H  i  NO,  D.D.,  Pastor  of  tho  Brick  Proabyterlan  Church  lu  tho  City  of 
Nuw  York.  PorttttH  ou  Steel.  2  vola.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $6  00. 


<5>-  Brothers'  Valuable  Standard  Works.       7 

SIIAKSPEARB.  Tho  Dramatic  Works  of  William  Shakspoaro,  with  the  Cor 
rection*  and  Illustration*  of  Dr.  JOHNSON,  G.  STBKVKN*,  and  other*.  He- 
vised  by  I*AAO  ItKKi*.  Engraving*.  0  vol*.,  Hoyal  12mo,  Cloth,  $U  00. 

SMILES'S  LIFE  OF  THE  8TEPIIENSONS.  Tho  Llfo  of  Georgo  Stophon- 
snn.  and  of  hi*  Son,  Robert  S(ophon*on  ;  comprising,  also,  a  History  of 
tho  Invention  and  Introduction  oftho  Hallway  Locomotive.  By  SAUIIKL. 
SUII.KH,  Author  of  "Self- Help,"  «&c.  With  Stool  Portrait*  aud  numer 
ous  Illustrations.  Svo,  Oloth,  $8  00. 

SMILES'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  HUGUENOTS.  Tho  Huguenots  :  their  Sol- 
tlumont*, Churched,  and  Industrie*  in  England  and  Ireland,  ily  SAMUKI. 
SMII.K*.  With  nu  Appendix  relating  to  tho  lluguouota  in  America. 
Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  Beveled,  $1  70. 

SMILES'S  SELF-HELP.  Solf-Holp 5  wllh  Illustrations  of  Character,  Con 
duct,  and  Perseverance.  By  SAMUKI.  SJUIUKH.  Now  Edilloit,  Kovi&od  and 
Enlarged.  12mo,  Cloth,  4<1  00. 

SPEKE'S  AFRICA.  Journal  of  the  Discovery  of  tho  Source  of  tho  Nllo. 
By  Captain  JOHN  HANNINO  SPKKH,  Captain  II.  M.  Indian  Army,  Fellow 
and  Gold  Medalist  of  tho  Hoyal  Geographical  Squiuty,  Hon.  Correspond 
ing  Member  and  Gold  Medalist  of  Hie  French  Geographical  Society,  Ac, 
With  Maps  and  Portrait*  and  numerous  Illustrations,  chiolly  from  Draw 
ings  by  Captain  QUANT.  Bvo,  Cloth,  uniform  with  Livingstone,  Durtb, 
Burton,  Ac.,  $1  00. 

STRICKLAND'S  (Miss)  QUEENS  OF  SCOTLAND.  Llvoa  of  tho  Qjioona 
of  Scotland  and  English  Princusso*  connected  with  tho  Hogal  Succession 
of  Groat  Britain.  By  AONSH  STUIOKLA.NU.  8  vol*.,  1'Jiuo,  Cloth,  $12  00. 

THE  STUDENT'S  HISTORIES. 

France.  Eugravlng4.  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 
Gibbon,  Engraving*.  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 
Greece.  Engraving*.  12mo,  Oloth,  $2  00. 
Hume.  Engraving*.  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 
Home.  By  Llddoll.  Engraving*.  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 


Old  Ttislainont  History.    Engraving*.    121110,  Cloth,  $2  00. 
New  Testament  History.     Engraving*.     12mo.  Cloth,  $2  00. 
Strickland'*  <£uouns  of  Engluiul.    Abridged.    Engraving*.    I'.'ino,  Cloth, 


$200. 

TENNYSON'S  COMPLETE  POEMS.  Tho  Complete  Pnoma  of  Alfred  Tern- 
iiynoii,  Pool  Luuruiitu.  With  nuinoruna  IlliiHtratioiid  by  Emlnont  Arl- 
iaU,  and  Tluoo  ChuractorluUc  Purtraitn.  BVO,  Pupor,  75  eta. ;  Cloth,  $1  '25. 

THOMSON'S  LAND  AND  THE  BOOK.  Tho  Land  and  tho  Book  ;  or,  Bib 
lical  IlluatratloiiM  drawn  from  tho  Mannoni  and  Cuatoinn,  the  Sconon  nnd 
tho  Scenery  of  tho  Holy  Land.  By  \V.  M.  TIIOMMON,  D.D.,  Twonty-flvo 
Yoara  n  Mhalonary  of  tho  A.B.O.F.M ,  In  Svrlti  and  Palontlno.  With  two 
elaborate  Mapa  or  Palobtlno,  an  accurate  Plan  of  Jonnmlom,  and  eovorul 
hundred  Engravint;!*,  roproBontinc;  tho  Scenery,  Topography,  and  Prod  tic- 
llona  of  tho  Holy  Land,  nnd  tho  Co«t union,  Mannurtf,  aud  Ilublta  of  tho 
Pooplo.  2  large  12mo  voltf,,  Cloth,  $6  00. 

TIOKNOR'S  HISTORY  OF  SPANISH  IJTERATURB.  With  CrltlclHinaon 
i ho  particular  WorkM,  and  Biographical  Notice*  of  Promluont  Writer*. 
0  VO!H.,  Bvo,  Cloth,  $9  01). 

VAMBERY'S  CENTRAL  ASIA.  Travola  In  Central  Aala.  Tloliiff  tho  Ac 
count  of  n  Journey  from  Tohornn  acrona  tho  Turkoman  Dowort,  on  tho 
Kaaturn  Shoro  of  iho  (JaHplan,  to  Khiva,  Bokhara,  and  Samarcand.  per 
formed  in  tho  Yoar  18<ltt.  By  AHMINUIB  VAunfeuv,  Mombor  oftho  linn- 
gariau  Acadomy  of  Poi»th,  by  whom  ho  waa  eon t  on  thia  Scientific  Mia- 
Hion.  With  Map  and  Woodcuts,  Svo,  Cloth,  $i  M). 

ENGLISHMAN'S  GREEK  CONCORDANCE.  The  EnalitthmAn'4  Grcok 
Concordance  of  the  Now  Testament  t  bolntr  an  Attempt  at  a  Verbal  Con 
nection  between  tho  Greek  and  tho  Eu^lltth  Taxtu  ;  Including  a  Corn 
cordunco  to  tho  Proper  Names,  with  ludexon,  Grcek-Eugliak  aud  En- 
gllah-Greok.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 


8       Harper  <&-  Brothers?  Valuable  Standard  Works. 

WOOD'S  HOMES  WITHOUT  HANDS.  Homes  Without  Hands;  being  a 
Doaoription  of  the  Habitat!  ma  of  Animula,  classed  according  to  their 
Principlo  of  Construction.  By  J.  Q.  WOOD,  M.A.,  F.L.B.,  Author  of 
"Illustrated  Natural  History."  With  about  140  Illustration*,  engraved 
by  Q.  Puurson,  from  Original  Designs  mode  by  F.\V.  Koyl  and  E.  A.  Smith, 
uiulor  the  Aulkur'a  Superintendence.  8vp,  Cloth,  Bovolud  Edgon,  $4  00. 

WILKINSON'S  ANCIENT  EGYPTIANS.  A  Popular  Account  of  thotr  Man- 
nora  and  Cuatoma,  condensed  from  hla  larger  Work,  with  aomoNrw  Mat- 
tor.  Illuatrutod  with  500  Woodcuts.  2  vola.,  12mo,  Cloth,  *8  50. 

MAUKY'S  (M.  P.)  PHYSICAL  GEOGRAPHY  OF  TUB  SEA.  Tho  Pnva- 
leal  Geography  of  ihoSoo,  and  iu  Meteorology.  My  M.  F.  MAIIKY.  LL.D., 
Into  U.STN.  Tho  Eighth  Edition,  Kevlaud  uud  greatly  Eulnrgod.  Svo 
Cloth,  $4  00. 

ANTHON'S  SMITH'S  DICTIONARY  OF  ANTIQUITIES.  A  Dictionary  of 
Greek  and  Hainan  Antiquities,  Edited  by  WILLIAM  SMITH,  LL.I).,  nnd 
Illustrated  by  numerous  Engraving*  ou  Wood.  Third  American  Edi 
tion,  carefully  Revised,  nnd  containing,  also,  numerous  additional  Ar 
ticles  relative  to  tho  Botany,  Mineralogy,  and  Zoology  of  tho  Anciuute. 
By  Cn  AIU.KH  ANTUO.N,  LL.D.  Roynl  Svo,  Sheep  extra,  $0  00. 

ANTHON'S  CLASSICAL  DICTIONARY.  Containing  an  Account  of  (ho 
principal  Propar  Nnmea  raonllonod  in  Ancient  Autliora,  and  intondod  to 
olucidnta  all  tbo  important  Points  connected  with  tha  Geography.  His 
tory,  Biography,  Mythology,  nnd  Fine  Arta  of  tho  Greuka  nud  Ronmna; 
together  with  nn  Account  of  tho  Oolna,  Weights,  and  Moaauroa  of  tho 
A  ncients,  with  Tubular  Values  of  tho  eumo.  Koynl  HVO,  Sheep  uxtra,  $0  UO. 

DWIGHT'S  (IlKV.  Dit.)  THEOLOGY.  Theology  Explained  and  Defended, 
in  u  Scrioa  of  SormoiiH.  By  TIMOTHY  DWHJIIT,  S.T.I),,  LL.D.  With  u 
Memoir  of  tho  Llfu  of  the  Author.  Portrait.  4  vola.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $8  00. 

FOWLER'S.  ENGLISH  LANGUAGE.  Tho  English  Lnnjrmgo  in  its  Ele 
ments  and  Forma.  With  a  Iliatory  of  it*  Origin  and  Development,  and 
a  full  Grammar.  Duaigned  for  (J0e  in  Collugun  nnd  Schools.  Revised 
nnd  Enlarged.  By  WII.MAM  C  Fovvi.un,  LL  D.,  luto  Profuaaor  in  Am- 
horat  Oollogo.  Svo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

GIESELER'S  ECCLESIASTICAL  HISTORY.  A  Text-Book  of  Church  Illa 
tory.  By  Dr.  JOHN  C.  L.  QiMMtMM,  Trnnalntud  from  the  Fourth  Kc- 
vlaed  German  Edition  by  SAMUEL  DAViim<m,  LL.D.,  nnd  Rev.  JOHN  WIN- 
UTANI.KY  HUM.,  M.A.  A  Now  American  Edition.  Ruvlacd  and  Edited  hy 
Ruv.  HKNHY  B.  SMITH,  D.D.,  Professor  in  (lie  Union  Theological  Semina 
ry,  New  York.  Four  Volumes  ready.  (Vol.  I',  in  J'rcso.)  Svo,  Cloth, 
$-j  '.'0  per  vol. 

GODWIN'S  (PARKE)  HISTORY  OF  FRANCE.  The  Hlnlory  of  Franco. 
Frotn  tho  Kurlioai  Timea  to  tho  French  Revolution  of  17SU.  By  PAUUU 
GODWIN.  Vol.  I.  (Ancient  Gaul).  Svo,  Cloth,  $D  00. 

HALL'S  (ROBERT)  WORKS.  Tho  Complete  Worka  of  Robert  Hall ;  with 
a  brief  Memoir  of  hia  Life,  bv  Dr.  Gneuonv,  and  Ohaorvnllona  on  hlH 
Clmractor  oa  n  Proochor,  by  Rev.  JOHN  FOHTKR.  Edited  by  OI.INTIIUM 
GiiKoonv,  LL.D.,  and  Rov.  JOHKPII  BKLOUKU.  Portrait.  4  vola,,  Svo, 
Cloth,  $8  00. 

HAMILTON'S  (8m  WILLIAM*  WORKS.  Dlacuaalona  on  Phtloaophy  and 
Literature,  Education  and  Unlveraity  ReAirm.  Chlony  from  tho  AV/i'/i- 
bnrnh  Havisw.  Corrected,  Vindicated,  nnd  Eninrgod,  in  Notoa  nnd  Aj>- 
pnndlcod.  By  Sir  WII.MAM  HAMILTON,  Bart.  With  nn  Introductory  Ea- 
eny,  by  Rev.  ROIIKUT  TUUNUUM.,  D.D.  Svo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 

HUMBOLDT'B  COSMOS.  Cosmos:  n  Sketch  of  n  Phyttlcnt  Doacrmtlon  of 
tho  Univorao.  Bv  ALBXANUKII  VON  HnMiioi.t>T.  Tranalnted  from  tho 
Gorman,  by  E.  C.  Orr&.  5  vola.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $il  25. 

ROBINSON'S  GREEK  LEXICON  OF  THIS  TES'J  AMENT.  A  Greek  nnd 
Engllah  Lexicon  of  tho  Now  Testament,  By  IU»WAB»  ROIIINBON,  D.D.. 
I.IJD.,  Into  Professor  of  Biblical  Lltcratura  In  tho  Union  Theological 
Seminary,  Now  York.  A  Now  Edition,  Ite vised,  and  in  groat  part  Re 
written.  Koyal  Svo,  Cloth,  $0  00. 


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